Angels and Dementors
by lafillesauvage
Summary: When Detective Harry Potter inadvertently stumbles across notorious Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy in Newcastle, of all places, he begins to suspect that Something Dastardly is in the works…
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Angels and Dementors  
><strong>Author: <strong>lafillesauvage / Roxie

**Summary:**When Detective Harry Potter inadvertently stumbles across notorious Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy in Newcastle, of all places, he begins to suspect that Something Dastardly is in the works. But what does a group of vigilante DE Sympathisers have to do with it? And what's all this about a so-called fourth Unforgiveable? Featuring Obsessive!Harry, AlcoholicBistroOwner!Draco and a liberal dose of Newcastle Bashing. HP/DM SLASH.

**DISCLAIMER:**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a _gracious_host that Harry will soon come around...

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><p><span>Chapter 1<span>

After apparating to the foot of the Angel of the North statue, Harry took in the view of the city that sprawled out beneath his feet. By rights, he could have apparated a great deal closer to his target destination – a small student flat just south of the Tyne – but, never having visited Newcastle before in his relatively short 24 years, Harry decided to make the most of what was likely to be a brief visit.  
>Well, that, and the fact that he had been having the day from hell and it wouldn't do to apparate directly into a suspect's home given Harry's prodigious record of cursing first, thinking later.<p>

All things considered, the walk in the fresh northern air would do him a great deal of good and help him forget all about the lecture from his boss that he would no doubt have to face when he returned to his sad Ministry cubicle in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (Improper Use of Magic Office).

It wasn't that he disliked his job per se; on the contrary, he was convinced it was a great deal more suited to him than a career in the Auror Division ever would have been. Harry had decided long ago that risking his life out of necessity when there was a madman out to murder him was one thing, but risking his life on a daily basis for no other reason than to pamper to everyone else's expectations was something else altogether.

So, after taking a year to finish his NEWTS, (and doing reasonably well, in his opinion, though of course not as well as Hermione), Harry had enrolled in the Investigative Division of the DMLE, where he was assigned to the task of investigating breaches of the International Statute of Secrecy (and decidedly_not_breaches of the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, which seemed far too hypocritical to Harry after his own misguided youth).

For the most part, it was a rewarding job, and it certainly gave him a number of interesting anecdotes to draw upon at dinner parties, but the amount of Ministry red tape was ridiculous. Even before the War, the Ministry had been a bureaucrat's wet dream, but after the events of Voldemort's takeover (and, though it was never mentioned as an official reason, the infiltration of the Ministry by a particular trio of teenagers disguised by Polyjuice potion) there had been a decided tightening of the rules and regulations.

Harry, however, never one to follow rules no matter who set them, of course spent most of his time doing his utmost to avoid adhering to 'proper protocol'. This led to 2 years' worth of case files building up and swallowing Harry's desk and eventually to the intervention of the Head of the Department, Mafalda Hopkirk, whose shrill voice Harry remembered from the warning letters he received in his second and fifth years at Hogwarts. She had warned him, in no uncertain terms, that he must complete his outstanding paperwork by the end of the month, or else…

Harry doubted that 'or else' meant a termination of his contract, as the Ministry still fawned over him as their Golden Poster Boy (much to Harry's annoyance). But still, the warning was enough to rile Harry into wandlessly setting fire to a stack of the aforementioned files (unfortunately for Harry, though, the Ministry always made copies, so this hadn't really achieved anything).

However, before Hopkirk managed to catch him and nag his ear off in a way reminiscent of Hermione, Harry had been alerted to an instance of magic in a Muggle-populated area, and so here he was, standing outside 33 Bartram Gardens, Gateshead, knocking on the door of the residence of one Kevin Entwhistle.

After the War, the Ministry had sought a way to redeem itself in the eyes of Muggleborns. Thus it was decided that each year the Ministry would offer Muggleborns the chance to take a place at a Muggle university of their choice, all expenses paid, including accommodation and living costs.

Harry wouldn't go so far as to say the program was a popular one; most Muggleborns were so enamoured by magic by the time they reached their final year that they made applications to study at wizarding higher education institutions around the world – Harry remembered Hermione herself had spent 3 years studying at the wizarding University of Bologna before returning to England to become an Unspeakable.

Still, every year there were around 5 Hogwarts alumni who elected to return to the Muggle world and complete a degree at one of the British universities on offer, in the process agreeing to abstain from the use of magic for the duration, unless of course, their lives were in danger and magic became necessary (the Ministry understandably did not want the blood of any more Muggleborns on its hands). This made it rather easy for Harry's division to keep tabs on these students, tracking them down when magic was detected in order to ascertain whether the use constituted a breach of the Statute of Secrecy or could be justified by mitigating circumstances. Once a decision had been made, a team of Obliviators was dispatched to modify the memories of any witnesses and, in case of the former, the wizard in question would receive a warning against further magical activity.

On average Harry was alerted to around 3 instances of magical activity by Muggleborn students each year, usually when the wizard/witch had been out drinking the night before and tried to banish their hangover with magic the next day. Still, each instance had to be investigated, just on the off-chance there was something more serious behind it.

When Entwhistle finally answered the door, he was barely clothed. In fact, 'barely' was an understatement. He had a white sheet wrapped around his waist, nothing on his torso, and a red, mortified expression on his face. If Harry wasn't so mortified himself, he would have found the scene rather amusing.

"Shit. I mean, sorry…er…Mr. Potter, sir. What can I…er…do for you?" Entwhistle stuttered, his jade green eyes taking in the official navy blue robes of the DMLE, the wand gripped tightly in Harry's right hand and finally the deep pink scar on Harry's forehead that, of course, remained an obsession of the wizarding world despite it being almost 7 years since Voldemort's demise.

"Mr Entwhistle," Harry managed at last to regain his professional composure, "My name is Detective Potter and I am here on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Improper Use of Magic Office, in order to investigate reports of magical activity at your residence at 9:53 this morning. As I'm sure you are aware, Mr Entwhistle, as per your enrolment on the Ministry's Muggleborn Higher Education Program, the use of magic is strictly prohibited by the International Statute of Secrecy, Clause 73, unless in extreme circumstances such as the endangerment of your life."

"Of course, Mr Potter, of course. I understand but you see it really was just a big mistake so..er…there's really no need for you to stick around. I've learnt my lesson, won't happen again. Good day." Entwhistle flashed him an insincere grin and proceeded to try and close his front door with the hand that wasn't trying to keep hold of the sheet and maintain his dignity.

"Mr Entwhistle, that may well be the case, but proper protocol dictates that I must now search your property in order to ascertain whether there really was a threat to your life and how many Obliviators will need to be called in order to uphold the Statute of Secrecy." Harry placed his hand on the door and held out his wand in warning; he might have calmed down after this morning's events, but he still was not in the mood to be toyed with.

"But, like I said Potter, it was just a mistake, I'm sure there's really no need-"

"Mr Entwhistle, I will have to ask you to stand aside or I will be forced to stun you." Harry glared at the blond until he finally relented, slumping against the wall behind the door as if hiding from what Harry might find in his downstairs flat. Fortunately, (or maybe 'unfortunately' would be more apt in this case) Harry didn't have to wait long to find out what this was.

"Ah! Potter, what a_lovely_surprise!" Harry turned from the sight of Entwhistle, eyes closed, cheeks reddening, right into the sneering countenance of none other than Draco Malfoy. "Still prying into other people's business are we, Scarhead? How some things never change…"

As Malfoy trailed off, Harry took in the sight of him, stood proudly in a similar state of undress to Entwhistle – Harry conveniently ignored the voice in his head that told him Malfoy had good reason not to be ashamed. Putting two and two together and coming up with some...disconcerting images (he refused to use the word 'arousing', even though they were definitely having an effect on his lower regions) of Entwhistle and Malfoy, naked and sweaty, writhing against each other in bed, Harry suddenly found his hatred of 'proper protocol' filtering across to the practical parts of his job, too.

Snapping out of his daze, Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, who was now smirking in a way that made Harry paranoid about his inability to ever master Occlumency.

"Malfoy. I take it you're the reason for the reports of magical activity, then? God knows I'd consider the sight of you in my home a threat to my life, if not my sanity."

"Yes, yes, Potter, it's all my fault. What can I say? I guess sex with me is just…_magical_!" the way Malfoy purred made Harry's skin flush and his cock strain against the fabric of his boxers in a very, very unprofessional way.

Malfoy's smirk grew wider until it was practically a leer, while Harry's eyes narrowed to slits and his vice-like grip on his wand threatened to snap the wood in half. It was just like being back at school again; in all his life, with the obvious exception of Voldemort, Harry had never met anyone who could get under his skin as quickly and successfully as Draco Malfoy, git extraordinaire.

A pointed cough from the doorway seemed enough to snap Harry and Malfoy out of their glaring contest.

"Mr Potter, if you really need to look around, I'd appreciate if you could be speedy about it. I have a lecture to get to in forty-five minutes." Entwhistle seemed determined to avoid making direct eye-contact with Harry, but his point was clear enough.

"Of course, I think I've seen all I need to see here anyway. An official warning will arrive by owl by tomorrow morning at the latest. Good day, Mr. Entwhistle." Harry shot one last glare at Malfoy before stalking out of the house.

He didn't get very far before his curiosity got the better of him. Truth be told, Harry didn't really know what waiting outside the house perched on a neighbouring wall for Malfoy to come out would achieve. After all, it was the responsibility of the Auror division to keep tabs on known former Death Eaters, not the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Still, Harry had never been one to leave Malfoy alone when he suspected something was going on; sure, it might have looked like Entwhistle and Malfoy were just lovers, (Harry fought hard to block the mental images from returning), but who knows what he might really be up to? So, stifling the voice in his head that asked him, in Hermione's voice no less, what the real reason for his obsession with Malfoy was, Harry settled in and prepared to wait.

It was maybe ten minutes before Malfoy emerged, no Entwhistle in sight, and immediately noticed Harry sat across the road, arms crossed over his chest, waiting.

"Oh Potter, please," he complained loudly with a roll of his eyes, "I had enough of your stalking in sixth year. I'd rather not relive the experience, if you don't mind." With that Malfoy took off down the street, pointedly ignoring Harry, who trailed after him like a particularly persistent puppy.

By the time the two men reached the bus stop outside the nearby hospital, Harry had transfigured his DMLE robes into Muggle clothing, noting, with a pang of irritation, that Malfoy was already appropriately dressed for this world, a fact that only served to make Harry even more suspicious. In 13 years of knowing the man, Harry had never seen Malfoy in anything other than the finest wizarding robes. Harry couldn't yet work out how this sartorial observation tied in with whatever nefarious plot Malfoy was involved in, but Harry knew it had to be relevant somehow.

When the bus arrived and Harry took a seat right next to Malfoy, it appeared to be too much for the former Slytherin.

"What, Potter?" he hissed. "Just what is your problem?"

"You are! What the hell are you doing in Newcastle of all places? What about your manor? And why are you dressed like a Muggle? The Draco Malfoy I know-"

"That's just it though, isn't it, Potter?" Malfoy seethed at him, turning in his seat until his face was so close that Harry, even with his reputation of killing the most evil dark wizard in history, felt slightly nervous. Only slightly. "You_don't_know me. You don't know _anything_about me. So why won't you just fuck off?"

And before Harry could even think of a reply to that, Malfoy had jumped up, brushed past him, and exited the bus. By the time Harry, too, got off the bus, Malfoy's blond head was nowhere to be seen in the lunchtime crowd of shoppers, office workers and students who were milling around the city centre. Swallowing the curse on his lips, Harry resolved to track him down. 6 years of not seeing the other man had done nothing to lessen the mistrust that Harry felt towards him.

Whatever Malfoy was up to, Harry would be the one to uncover it.

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><p>Please R&amp;R! :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a _gracious_host that Harry will soon come around...

Chapter 2

After 15 minutes of walking hopelessly along the high street with no success, Harry decided he would have to employ one of the few Auror spells Ron had agreed to teach him, "just in case".

Closing his eyes and gripping the shaft of the wand concealed in his jacket pocket, Harry tried to focus on any traces of magic in the area. It wasn't a particularly strong spell, and the fact that Harry had not had years of practice to perfect the magic like real Aurors meant that it took longer than it necessarily should have to pinpoint any potential wizards or witches in the vicinity.

Still, Newcastle was not noted for being a city with a large wizarding population and, from what Harry could remember of the geography of wizarding Britain, the Wizarding Quarter was nowhere near the Muggle centre. With that in mind, he was almost certain that one of the 3 locations he had found would turn out to be wherever Malfoy had run off to.

Harry decided that his best bet would be to check out the nearest location first, as although he had had a slight head start and a home advantage, Malfoy couldn't have gotten that far in the time that had elapsed.

When he eventually reached his destination - a side-street bistro emblazoned with the cracked-font title "Fallen Angel" - Harry knew that this was it. Even if the business was traditionally decorated in deep browns and burgundy rather than the Slytherin green one might have expected, and even in the absence of any kind of dragon motif to pamper to Malfoy's ego, there was something about this place that screamed out to Harry's detective instincts.

Hammering on the wooden door next to the restaurant that Harry assumed was the entry to Malfoy's living area, a small part of Harry's mind began to wonder what he was even going to ask Malfoy. Before he had time to dwell on that however, the door swung open and Harry was faced with a very irate looking blond.

"What, Potter? What do you want from me?"

"Why are you in Newcastle, Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked at him incredulously, pointedly glancing to the bistro next to him and then back to Harry.

"Oh, you know, Potter, just taking in the sights. What the fuck do you think I'm doing here? I own a business. And a legitimate one, before you even ask."

"But why-"

"Look," Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyebrows as if in pain. After taking a few deep breaths his face relaxed slightly and when he spoke again it was with markedly less irritation than before. "I refuse to have this conversation with you on my doorstep and you sure as hell aren't coming into my home…"

Harry huffed at that, although part of him had to admit that if Malfoy had followed _**him**_ doggedly through the streets of London, he would likely refuse to let him into his flat either.

"I realise, however, that you are creepily obsessed with me, Potter, and you refuse to let go of anything once you have sunk your teeth into it. Therefore, if you wish, you may join me for a drink in my bistro this afternoon, say around 3 o'clock?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest that, no, he wasn't going to wait around for 4 hours while Malfoy did God only knows what, but then he really didn't have a valid reason to interrogate Malfoy anyway, so in the end he had no choice but to acquiesce.

"Great, ta ta, Potter," Malfoy slammed the door with probably more force than was necessary and suddenly Harry was stood in the middle of a deserted side-street in the centre of a city he had never been to before and faced with a four hour wait before he would be able to ask any of the pertinent questions flying around in his head.

Sighing heavily, Harry resolved to find the nearest wizarding pub, certain that he would need to imbibe a good deal of Firewhiskey in order to face Malfoy and his irritating behaviour later that afternoon.

* * *

><p>It hadn't taken long for Harry to happen across the Acromantula's Egg pub, complete with a set of real Acromantula eyes above the doorframe which even Harry thought was a little too creepy.<p>

Still, the Firewhiskey had been a reasonable price and the other patrons had kept to themselves, which meant that by the time he reached Malfoy's poncy little bistro at five minutes to three later that day, he felt more than capable of handling Malfoy's bratty attitude.

"Come on in then, Potter. The sooner we get this over with the sooner I can go back to forgetting you exist."

Harry simply gritted his teeth and sat down at the bar that ran along the back wall, resting his arm on the rounded edge as he turned to face Malfoy who was handing him a glass of what looked like rather expensive Scotch.

Deciding to waste no time with small talk (and really, when had he and Malfoy ever bothered with such social niceties anyway?), Harry asked the question that he felt he had been asking almost non-stop since he had laid eyes on Malfoy in Entwhistle's flat that morning.

"What are you up to Malfoy? Why are you in Newcastle?"

"Potter, why are you so insistent that there is a nefarious reason for my being here? Have you ever considered that perhaps I might like it here?"

"Do you?"

"It has its…advantages, yes…" Malfoy trailed off and took a sip of his Scotch; his hands were steady but Harry could tell there was something more to this situation than Malfoy was willing to let on.

"Like what?"

"It's about as far away from London as you can get, for one thing, while being close enough to Scotland without triggering any painful memories from the War. The wizarding community is small and for the most part leaves me alone, which is more than I can say for those living in the capital." There was a pointed glare at Harry with this remark, but he chose to ignore it.

"What about the Manor?"

"What about it? I doubt it failed to escape your notice, Potter, working for the DMLE as you do, but the Malfoys have been something of a target in recent years. That, combined with the fact that your Ministry felt it wise to systematically remove all the ancient wards and protections from the Manor and its grounds, means that the Manor is no longer safe. Besides, there are too many memories there."

Harry didn't have to ask which memories. He had enough of his own related to his imprisonment in the Malfoy ancestral home. Still, surely the Malfoys had enough property abroad to negate this issue? Harry asked as much and was rewarded with a cool glare.

"After five years of living in exile the novelty of living abroad begins to wear off somewhat."

Of course, the forced exile. Harry had completely forgotten about that. Whilst the Ministry had fully accepted Harry's testimony on behalf of Malfoy and his mother for the good they did in the closing hours of the War, the Wizengamot had ruled that Malfoy's earlier actions warranted punishment. He had managed to escape being sent to Azkaban like his father, but had instead been sentenced to 5 years of exile, without magic. Unlike the Muggle-born students on the Ministry's University Program, Malfoy had not been permitted to take his wand.

"Oh…I see."

"No, Potter. You don't see," Malfoy all but spat at him, the mildly-irritated façade of earlier breaking away to reveal just how completely pissed Malfoy was that Harry had tracked him down at last. "You can't possibly understand how it was. I was coerced into taking the Mark, blackmailed into letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, forced to torture prisoners for the Dark Lord and then to top it all off I was exiled from my own country, from my own people, and punished with 5 years of living among Muggles whilst my father died in prison and my mother was forced to flee her own home. So no, Potter, you don't get to pretend to be sympathetic because you don't understand at all."

"I don't understand what it's like to be forced into fighting against your will? To have your parents taken away from you because of something you never wanted to be involved in? No, of course not, Malfoy. I don't understand that at all. No one has ever suffered like you, have they? Let's completely ignore the fact that you had a choice in all of this-"

"_**A choice**_? How the hell do you work that out, Potter?" Malfoy's eyes were alight with anger as he pushed himself into Harry's personal space. Harry noted distantly that they should be past this by now; at 24 he and Malfoy should have grown up enough to put all this fighting behind them. Apparently, though, they both had 6 years' worth of built-up anger and frustration to release and now seemed as good a time as any to do it.

"Don't give me that, Malfoy. I was there on the Astronomy Tower that night; I saw everything. Dumbledore offered you a way out; he could have helped you. But you decided to run with Snape and the rest of your Death Eater cronies. There's your choice."

"And let the Dark Lord kill my family? There was never any question about what I had to do, Potter. The only time I ever made my own choice was in the Room of Requirement when I tried to save your pathetic life from Crabbe and Goyle. And look how that ended: one of my oldest friends is dead and even after saving the Chosen One I ended up punished." Malfoy scoffed and poured himself another Scotch, his pale hands shaking now but whether that was due to emotion or inebriation Harry couldn't decide.

"I did all I could, Malfoy." A strange feeling was making its presence known in Harry's stomach as Malfoy spoke. As much as he loathed the man, he couldn't help but feel guilty for what happened to him after the War.

He supposed it was just another example of the Ministry's incessant desire for a show; just like with the Muggle University Program, just like with Harry being allowed to keep his comfortable job in the DMLE even though he never adhered to protocol, the Ministry had used the Death Eaters' trials for their own benefit. They had had to make an example of the most prominent members, such as the Malfoys, for the media circus that appeared after the War. It didn't matter that Malfoy had been just a boy and had never directly killed anyone; the Ministry had to show a tough line on crime, and so they effectively turned him into a Muggle.

Malfoy sighed and nodded imperceptibly, his eyes looking softer now, more resigned.

"I know, Potter. I…I don't blame you. I just…this doesn't even feel like my life anymore. At first when I was exiled I was so terrified of living amongst Muggles, terrified that I would never be able to cope without magic or without my mother. And it was hard, really hard, to adjust.

"But now…now it's harder for me to think about going back to the wizarding world. The life I had before is gone. I have no friends in that world anymore, no family, no home. I have to set protection spells here to stop the owls and the Howlers from finding me, and sometimes at night one will come and I'll have forgotten to cast a Silencing Charm, and so when it explodes outside the wards I can hear it. The voices of the people who tell me I should have died, who tell me I deserved worse, who promise that if they ever find me…"

Malfoy trailed off but it was obvious what the threats entailed. The drawn expression of Malfoy's face and the slight quiver of his pale lips did more than any words could to show how stressful his life had become.

Harry wished he could help, but even he didn't have the power to change the attitudes of the vast majority of the wizarding population. Hell, even before he came here to talk to Malfoy he had shared their sentiments that he was evil and deserved the worst. In any case, even if he still found Malfoy to be an annoying git, for the most part Harry had to acknowledge that he seemed to have changed in the years that had passed since the end of the War.

"Potter, I realise that you work for the Ministry now and you may think that it's your professional duty to report me but please, I would really appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone that you saw me here. I genuinely just want to get on with my life as best I can."

The shock of Malfoy using the word 'please' let alone seeming to mean it was enough to shock Harry into agreeing. After scrutinising his face for any signs that he might be lying, Malfoy nodded to himself and then finished off his glass of Scotch in one.

"I'm glad that's sorted then. Now, Potter, I don't mean to come across as a bad host, but I need to get this place ready for the first wave of customers and to be frank, I'd just feel more at ease if I could go back to not worrying about you interfering in my life again. I'm sure you understand."

Harry understood indeed that Malfoy was back to being a git and that the genuine side of his personality had been pushed back beneath the surface, but he also understood the reasons for it.

Nodding, he picked up his own glass of Scotch and knocked it back, grimacing at the aftertaste as he rose from his seat.

"Right, sure." He smiled tightly at the other man, unsure whether anything further needed to be said.

"I hope you got the answers you needed, Potter," Malfoy said as he guided Harry to the door of the bistro. Harry turned to look at him before he replied.

"Maybe not all of them, but I doubt that you would answer the others, even if I had the time to ask."

Malfoy quirked his lips upwards at the corners, which Harry took to be agreement. Shaking his head in exasperation, Harry reached for the door and let himself out onto the street.

"See you around, Malfoy," he called back as he turned and scanned the road for passing Muggles.

"I don't doubt that you will, Potter." It was a soft utterance that carried on the wind, but he heard it nevertheless, at least until the _pop_ of his Apparition seemed to drown it out completely.

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><p>Please read and review! :)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a _gracious_host that Harry will soon come around...

* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

The next day, Harry decided to actually make a start on his backed-up paperwork, hoping that it would take his mind off of what he now referred to as The Newcastle Situation.

After getting home last night, Harry had realised that in fact he now had more questions than answers, and with each replay of their conversation in his head, the more confused he became.

The usual course of action in such a situation was to speak with Hermione or, if she was on one of her Top Secret Unspeakable Missions, Ron. However, seeing as they both constituted The Ministry, with both of them in surprisingly senior positions in their respective departments, any conversation with them about Malfoy would most definitely be seen as breaking Harry's promise.

Harry had more than once asked himself why he should value a promise made to Malfoy, a Slytherin to the core and a man who had done more to hurt Harry over the years than to help him, over the trust he should have in his two best friends.

Still, just because Malfoy was a slimy bastard did not mean that Harry had to act in the same way. In all honesty, there was a part of Harry that still felt responsible for Malfoy's fate, as if there were anything more that he could have done at the time to spare the suffering that was later inflicted on the blond.

The truth was that Harry knew that there was little he could do even now. But he had to do something to assuage his guilt and move on with his life, that much was clear to him. Sighing heavily and rubbing at his tired eyes, Harry decided that he needed to know more about Malfoy's life and his past, and the only way to do that was to go back up to Newcastle.

Taking his cloak from the coat stand in the corner of his cubicle, Harry pictured the quaint little bistro in his mind's eye and Disapparated, leaving the undented piles of cases behind him.

* * *

><p>"Oh, for the love of…Potter! I told you to leave me alone!"<p>

Malfoy had evidently heard the crack of Apparition in the empty side-street (really, how did Malfoy ever make any money in such a location?) and currently had his blond head poking out of the second-storey window of his apartment.

"I need to talk to you, Malfoy," Harry didn't care so much about politeness and, with the single-minded determinedness that was so synonymous with those of Gryffindor stock, demanded to be let in to Malfoy's apartment.

"Potter, this is _**harassment!**_ You're not even an Auror!_**" **_he seethed, apparently unwilling to move from his window in order to let Harry in, which was probably understandable. But Harry didn't care.

"What will you do, Malfoy, hmm? File a complaint with the Ministry?" Harry knew he'd won as soon as Malfoy slammed the window shut and he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Before the other man had a chance to block the door, Harry pushed his way into the narrow hallway. He knew he was breaking all sorts of rules, not to mention laws, in doing this, but his point about Malfoy not contacting the Ministry was valid; he could effectively get away with a lot worse.

"By all means, Potter, come right in!" Malfoy shoved past him and started walking up the stairs, turning right at the top into a surprisingly well decorated open-plan apartment. The living area faced the grand sash windows which Malfoy had just been leaning out of, and past the living room was a red metal spiral staircase that led up to what Harry presumed must be Malfoy's bedroom and bathroom. Behind the living area was a small kitchen with a breakfast bar and metallic grey bar stools, on which Malfoy was currently perched, glaring at Harry as he took in the apartment.

"Nice place," Harry suddenly felt ridiculous. He had no idea what he'd been expecting; probably a dingy, potions-lab replica with cauldrons bubbling away with illegal potions and a poster of Harry, Ron and Hermione on the wall for target practice…

But no, in fact the apartment didn't even look like a wizard's apartment at all. Malfoy even had a flat screen TV on the wall which backed onto the staircase, something Harry never would have expected. What's more, Harry couldn't get over how…light the apartment was. White walls, cream carpets, white voile curtains, silver fixtures in the kitchen. It was so different from the dark and dingy dungeons of Hogwarts and the grandiose, traditional style of the Manor that one would hardly believe that this was the residence of Draco Malfoy.

"Of course, I have impeccable taste," Malfoy drawled as he poured himself a cup of coffee, pointedly refusing to offer Harry a cup.

"I'm sorry about this, I just have so many questions-"

"And of course the rational thing to do in such a situation is to force yourself into someone's home…"

"But I had no other way of contacting you and even if I had I doubt you would have made yourself available. Don't think I've forgotten how slippery you Slytherins can be, Malfoy."

There was a small smirk playing on Malfoy's lips, and Harry could tell that they were both thinking about how much they had missed this bantering from their youth.

"Well, quite. But I really do have a lot to do, Potter. I know you're convinced that I'm plotting to bring down the Ministry or something along those lines but, honestly, I am just trying to run a business here."

"Just answer my questions and I'll go, I promise."

"I thought that was what you promised yesterday? And yet, here you are," Malfoy rolled his eyes and gestured to the seating in the living room (two beige recliners and a large navy blue sofa) while he went to retrieve two glasses from his kitchen cupboard and a bottle of Firewhisky from under the sink. Harry began to protest at drinking alcohol at eleven am on a Thursday morning, and was quite surprised that Malfoy seemed to think it was perfectly natural.

"What, Potter? I'm sorry but I find it impossible to stand your presence without some form of alcohol to dull the pain. The only thing I can offer you otherwise is tea."

"I thought you had coffee?" Harry inclined his head towards the now empty china cup that sat on the breakfast bar. Malfoy pursed his lips, as if fighting with himself over whether to tell the truth.

"Well I do, but that's Kopi Luak, Potter. You can hardly expect me to share that, especially with someone who has just invaded my home. So, tea or whisky?"

After agreeing to a cup of tea, and after making sure it hadn't been poisoned first, Harry settled into the surprisingly comfortable sofa with Malfoy sat to the side on the beige recliner, his long legs curled up under him and the glass of amber whiskey in his hands.

"Have you always been such an alcoholic?" The words were out of Harry's lips before he could stop them, earning him a disapproving frown from Malfoy.

"You've seen me drink twice in thirteen years and you assume I have an addiction? Why, Potter, I didn't know you cared! In any case I doubt you Apparated 250 miles to ask me such an inane question, so just get on with whatever it is your obsessive personality can't let go so we can finally be rid of each other."

The words sparked a squirming feeling in Harry's gut which he couldn't immediately place. It was almost as if he were sad that Malfoy was so desperate to move on with his life and forget about Harry, but that couldn't be it. Harry had gone almost seven years without even thinking about Malfoy, why should he feel anything but relief at the thought of never seeing that pointy-faced wanker again?

Except, he just felt…worried. That was it; he was concerned about Malfoy. Before, he had been able to avoid thoughts of Malfoy because he had assumed that he would be okay, that he would find his way in the Muggle world and that Harry had done everything he needed to for the blond. Now that he could see that Malfoy was suffering, he couldn't just let him go. He had enough sense not to admit that to Malfoy however, as no doubt it would do nothing but offend him and launch him into one of his mercurial mood swings.

"Let's start at the beginning," Harry started gently, looking down at his callused hands as he spoke. "What happened after you were exiled?"

A shadow passed over Malfoy's emotionless face, and Harry could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he considered whether to evade the question or give in and answer Harry. In the end it seemed Malfoy realised the folly in assuming Harry would just let him get away with evasion and sighed heavily before replying.

"Well, obviously my wand was taken from me first. Then I was dragged to the Muggle Liaison Office, where I was issued with some Muggle clothes, Muggle Euros and a Muggle passport, along with other documents that an eighteen year old Muggle boy would be expected to possess. Then they handed me some Muggle Studies textbooks to read through so that I wouldn't end up accidentally breaching the Statute of Secrecy with my ignorance of their world.

"And then they asked me which country I wanted to live in. I mean, less than half an hour after being sentenced I'm asked where I want to spend the next five years of my life! I just said France without thinking and the next thing I knew I was given a Portkey in the shape of a broken pocket watch and suddenly I was in Paris surrounded by Muggle tourists.

"Luckily I had been to the Malfoy residences in France enough times in my youth to know enough of the language to get by those first few weeks, and then obviously after that it just became second-nature. I found work as a waiter in a bistro in the Latin Quarter for the nights and I worked in a bookstore during the day. After about a year of serving university students who seemed like they had less between their ears than I did I decided to apply for a course at the University and I spent the next three years there."

"What did you study?" Harry couldn't deny being impressed. He was sure that in Malfoy's shoes he would have barely managed to survive, let alone actually accomplish anything as difficult as undertaking a degree at a Muggle university…in French no less.

"Political science." There was a wry grin breaking out across Malfoy's face and Harry couldn't help shaking his head as a similar expression crept onto his own.

"What about the last year? What happened then?"

The grin slipped from Malfoy's face almost as abruptly as it had appeared and Malfoy took a long drink as if to fortify himself to continue.

"I arranged to start work as a clerk in the municipal offices in Saint-Denis just outside Paris. I spent about two weeks there before I got a letter through my door from the Ministry, informing me that my father had died in Azkaban and that," Malfoy scoffed bitterly at this, "as upsetting as they were sure it was, I would not be permitted to violate my sentence to return for the funeral. If I had any special requests or anything I wanted to be read at the service, I was to send it to them, the Muggle way of course, and they would arrange something. So I sent them a note saying 'go to Hell', which I don't know if they took as being aimed at them or my father."

"Which was it?" Malfoy looked at him openly for a few moments, as if he had forgotten exactly with whom he was having this conversation.

"A bit of both, I think," Harry didn't bother to hide his surprise at that; he'd always thought Malfoy adored his father more than anything. He certainly seemed to talk about him a lot more than his mother when they had been at school.

"Lucius Malfoy was a great father, Potter. I never doubted for a second that he loved me. As a man, however, I will admit he had his failings; failings which my mother and I often bore the brunt of, especially after he was incarcerated in Azkaban in fifth year. And when he died, I have to admit to feeling betrayed that he'd left us again to deal with his mess.

"I had no idea where my mother was or how she was doing because we were forbidden from meeting, but I know now that she was threatened and humiliated in much the same way as I am today, even though she arguably did just as much to save the world from the Dark Lord as your own mother seventeen years before."

Malfoy looked at him defiantly, as if daring Harry to contradict that statement, but he couldn't. Harry had never thought to compare Narcissa with his own mother, but it was true that they had both put their own lives on the line in the face of Voldemort to protect their sons. Once more Harry had the feeling that he had let this family down in some way, especially Narcissa, without whom Harry wouldn't even be alive today.

"You're right." For a second Malfoy looked taken aback that Harry hadn't challenged him, but then he seemed to shake it off and went back to what he was saying.

"In any case I blamed my father for what had happened to us because it was easier than blaming myself. He was dead, he couldn't refute it, and my mother wasn't there to talk sense into me. I was so furious at him for leaving us that I couldn't even think of anything else and eventually I had to give up the position in the municipal offices and go back to waiting tables for the next year."

Harry nodded, remembering his own anger at Sirius and how it consumed his entire being for so long. It amazed Harry thinking about how many parallels he could find between his own life and Malfoy's now that he thought about it.

"Eventually I came to realise that even if the situation had largely been caused by my father's actions, it was up to me to undo it all. I was the only one left who could save the family.

"So I came back to London after five years, determined to put my experiences to good use somewhere, but of course, no one would have me. Doors were slammed in my face before I could even ask about work and I was cornered and threatened so many times in that first week that in the end I just gave up. I withdrew as much money as I could from the family vault in Gringotts, converted it to Muggle money and moved as far north as I could without leaving England. And this is where I've been for the last year."

Harry looked at Malfoy for what felt like the first time. This man had been through so much since the War he seemed almost old before his time. Certainly he seemed older than Harry, who was himself twenty-four going on forty, at least according to Ron and a number of his brothers. Once more Harry felt a surge of pity course through him as he took in the man across from him.

"You should be a shrink, Potter." Malfoy tipped his glass of Firewhisky towards Harry in salute before swallowing the last drops. Harry shook his head and finished off his own lukewarm tea.

"I think I've disappointed enough people with my current career choice to change it to something else now."

"Yes, why aren't you an Auror, anyway?" Malfoy moved to take Harry's cup and refill it with fresh tea while Harry tried to explain his choice.

"I don't even know. I thought it was what I wanted to do when I was fifteen, but I was still just a kid then. I hadn't seen half of the horrors that I'd seen by the time I was eighteen and suddenly I realised that my entire life had been spent fighting and that I'd never had a choice about it until then. So I decided to stop and do what I wanted to do."

"Well yes, I have noticed how you enjoy breaking into other people's property," Malfoy smirked as he handed Harry another cup of tea, but it was different to the vindictive smirks of their childhood, this was more amused, more…friendly.

"I'm not actually meant to do that, you know."

"I confess that that doesn't surprise me, Potter. You never have been good at doing as you're told. Especially where I'm involved."

If it had been anyone but Malfoy, Harry would have thought that the blond was flirting with him. But it _**was**_ Malfoy. Which meant it was Impossible.

"That's because you're a git and I don't trust that you're not up to something," Harry scowled, trying to shake off the voice in his head that told him that it wouldn't be all that bad if Malfoy really was flirting with him.

"Potter, why can't you just accept that I'm good now? In fact, I'm better than good, I'm _**really **_good."

Harry got the distinct impression that they were no longer talking about what side of the law they were on. Malfoy just laughed at him and poured himself a third glass of Firewhisky.

"You're also _**really **_alcohol dependent."

"When did you get to be such a killjoy? You mean to tell me breaking into my house and invading my privacy is acceptable to you but me having three glasses in the comfort of my own home is wrong?"

"Will you shut up? I did not 'break in', you let me in."

"After you blackmailed me. There's a name for people like you in law enforcement."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"You're bent, Potter."

Harry had never thought it was possibly to choke on air until that moment. So there he was, coughing so hard that his eyes began to sting while Malfoy sat there watching him with a distinct air of amusement. Sadistic prick to the core that one.

"A bent copper! Surely you've heard that expression before; you're the one who grew up with Muggles after all."

"Of course I have, I just can't believe that _**you**_ have."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Potter." It was so low it was almost a purr, but Malfoy's face remained as neutral as ever. The only difference was the faint smirk tingeing his lips and the fact his eyes were alight in a way that Harry had only ever associated with anger.

Except that couldn't be the case this time because for the first time in thirteen years he and Harry were actually being civil, more than civil. Harry smirked back at the blond, deciding that, in reality, Malfoy wasn't that hard to get along with.

"I'm starting to see that, Malfoy."

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><p>Please Read and Review! :)<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a _gracious _host that Harry will soon come around...

**A/N: **This chapter does contain a sex scene, but to fit in with 's posting guidelines some of the content has been changed/removed. If you would like to read the original, un-edited NC-17 version of this chapter, please feel free to friend me on lj (info on my bio page) and read it there or else on thehexfiles . net, where this chapter should be posted sometime tomorrow. :)

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

The next day, and the subsequent 3 days, passed in a pretty similar fashion. Harry would go to work, plough through a pile of paperwork, then Apparate to Newcastle where he would order a meal in the 'Fallen Angel' and spend his evening talking to Malfoy about whatever came to mind.

Harry had no idea how this routine came about, but he couldn't honestly say that he minded. The more time he spent with the blond, the more he came to realise that he was nothing like the boy Harry had known at Hogwarts. Then again, Harry had never really known Malfoy back then; maybe this had always been his true personality but their respective roles in the War had made it impossible to find out.

When Harry mentioned this to Malfoy the following Tuesday evening, Malfoy smiled sadly and took a sip of his white wine.

"In all honesty, Potter, I don't know who Draco Malfoy is anymore. When I was younger Draco Malfoy was Lucius Malfoy's son and heir. Then when I was a bit older Draco Malfoy was the Dark Lord's favourite torture device. Then there was Draco Malfoy, Ministry Scapegoat. Now what? Draco Malfoy…Muggle?"

Malfoy tried to smile depreciatingly but it was a thin mask for the panic beneath the surface.

"Draco Malfoy, Alcoholic Bistro Owner!" Harry raised his glass in mock salute and some of the tension faded from Malfoy's face as he laughed.

"Proprietor. It sounds much more impressive than 'owner'." He smirked and clinked his glass against Harry's. It was a brief light moment, but they both knew it was covering real helplessness. Harry frowned as he wondered when he had gotten so good at understanding Malfoy's behaviour.

"Don't you notice a pattern in all of that, though?"

"What do you mean?" Malfoy's brow knitted together and Harry had to push aside the voice in his head that told him Malfoy looked strangely cute when he was confused.

"In all of those, except the Muggle one, you made it seem like you were defined by other people; by your father, by Voldemort, by the Ministry. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you've been too busy looking for someone to help define yourself that you've lost sight of who you really are."

Malfoy peered at him seriously for long enough that Harry began to feel rather uncomfortable. Then he smiled and reached out to push a stray strand of Harry's fringe out of his eyes.

"When did you get so smart, Potter?" It should have been rude, but the awed tone of Malfoy's voice made Harry's chest swell. He didn't know why impressing Malfoy had become so important (okay, maybe he did, but he was choosing to ignore it). But when Malfoy smiled at him, just that small smile, but the first genuine one Harry had ever seen, Harry realised that something huge had just changed between them.

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><p>After almost two weeks of their meetings, Harry began to have what can only be described as an attack of conscience. By this point it was getting nearly impossible to be around Draco (and it was Draco now, at least in Harry's head) without having to force down an erection. It was as though he was seventeen all over again, his body reacting inappropriately whenever he saw or thought about the blond (which was admittedly quite often.)<p>

Still, Harry didn't think it was wise to act on this. He had come to think of Draco as a friend, a good friend, and he was apparently the only friend that Draco had, wizard or otherwise, in England. According to Draco, even his university friends from Paris only wrote rarely, and as much as he pretended to the contrary, Harry knew he was grateful for the company to distract him from his loneliness.

They had spoken about Narcissa the night before, and Harry could no longer deny the affection that he held for Draco after seeing the man break down as he recounted the story of her death to Harry.

Draco had been back in the country for less than a month when he had received a note from his mother's owl (one of the few that were granted entry through Draco's wards) signed by his mother's Healer urging him to go to the Malfoy Château in Bordeaux immediately.

His mother had been walking in the city when a group of Death Eater sympathisers had attacked her, blaming her for Voldemort's downfall and the subsequent fall of Pure-bloods from grace. They hadn't bothered with anything as simple as Avada Kedavra; they had wanted her to suffer, to feel every second of her slow and agonising death, and Draco had been unable to do anything but stand and watch in horror as his last remaining relative was taken from him.

When Draco had told Harry this, how Narcissa's screams had pierced the otherwise oppressive silence of the room, how even as she looked at him with her bloodshot eyes there had been no recognition there thanks to the memory altering spells of her attackers, how he had actually felt relieved when her body finally stilled, if only because it meant an end to her suffering, Draco had actually cried.

They'd been on Draco's sofa, which was where they usually ended their nights now, and Harry had been unable to keep himself from slipping his arms around the smaller man and pull him against his chest. He'd held Draco as the sobs wracked his body, and smoothed the hair back from his face. He hadn't gone so far as to kiss Draco's blond head, not wanting to overstep the mark, but he'd wanted to. And when he'd wrapped the blanket round Draco after he fell asleep on the sofa afterwards, he'd wanted to stay and sleep next to him. But he couldn't, hence Harry's dilemma.

In spite of all that he felt, Harry knew that he was the only friend Draco had left, the only person he could talk to about who he really was and what he'd been through. Harry didn't want to betray that and leave Draco alone in the same way as everyone else in his life had, whether intentionally or not.

That said it was getting increasingly difficult to maintain his self-restraint when Draco looked so effortlessly gorgeous all the time…

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><p>When Harry Apparated outside the bistro that Friday night, he was rather taken aback to see that Draco was not there. Furrowing his brow, he glanced to see if Draco was inside, but there was no sign of him there either. Harry felt a brief pang of fear at being stood-up before he caught the eye of the maître-d', who told him that Mr. Malfoy was upstairs and that he, Harry, should go right up.<p>

For a moment Harry wondered how exactly he was meant to do that, but then realised Draco must have changed the wards to let him through with a simple _Alohomora_.

"Took you long enough!" A voice called out to him as he reached the top step and Harry turned to the kitchen where he was greeted with a glass of red wine that he knew was from the Malfoy Bordeaux vineyards. "I thought you were meant to be Harry Potter, Professional Home Invader?"

Draco smirked as he toasted Harry, and Harry couldn't help but cast an eye over the blond's outfit; a snugly fitting emerald green robe. After inwardly admiring the way the robe accentuated Draco's best features (notably a very delectable arse) Harry realised this was the first time he had even seen Draco in wizarding robes since Draco's sentencing hearing six years before.

As if sensing Harry's realisation, Draco smiled somewhat ruefully and said, "You have to get back on the horse one day, right?", which prompted some very _**very **_inappropriate images of Draco riding something decidedly non-equine.

"Right," Harry flustered and suddenly wished he had worn robes too, if only because his tight fitting jeans would do nothing to hide his growing arousal around Draco.

After sitting down at Draco's small dining table and indulging in plenty of wine while they waited for the beef to cook (Draco, it appeared, was a very competent chef), Harry finally asked a question he had been itching to ask ever since he had walked into Entwhistle's flat over two weeks prior.

"Why did you sleep with Entwhistle?" It was probably impolite and coarse to address such issues over dinner and undoubtedly offended Draco's refined sensibilities, but Harry's inhibitions had been lowered past the point of caring.

"What do you mean?" Harry wasn't sure, but he had a vague idea that Draco was blushing. Or maybe it was just the wine. Or the light. Draco was so damned pale normally it was hard to tell.

"He just doesn't seem your type."

"My type?" Draco seemed amused, but he wasn't so rude as to laugh outright in Harry's face. "Pray tell, what is my type, Potter?"

"Dunno. Pure-blood? Entwhistle's Muggle-born you know." Harry had definitely had Too Much to drink.

"Yes, Potter, I'm aware of Kevin's heritage." He laughed softly and Harry couldn't help feel a little irritated that Entwhistle was referred to as 'Kevin' while Harry was still 'Potter'. Then again, Draco _**had **_slept with Entwhistle. Maybe there was a rule about the proper naming protocol after sex. Harry didn't much care for protocol so he couldn't pretend to know.

"How do you even know him?" Harry thought he had done quite well to keep most of the jealousy out of his voice. The indulgent expression on Draco's face suggested he had picked up on it anyway.

"I don't, really. I was at a student bar the night before. We met, we got talking about Hogwarts and both ended up having far too much to drink and…that was that."

Harry thought that seemed far too easy, especially since Entwhistle wasn't really that good looking at all, at least not compared to Draco. But then, Harry didn't really know any guys that were in the same league as Draco, at least not any that he'd ever seen in person. The two men that Harry had slept with before had been average-looking at best.

"Have you spoken to him since?" A hand reached out and started tracing circles on Harry's hand, as light as a feather's touch and arousing as hell.

"No," Draco replied, his voice as soft as his caress. "Someone else seems to have been monopolising my time." The fingers moved from Harry's hand up towards his wrist, teasing over his pulse at the same time that Draco's foot began a slow, torturous journey up Harry's leg.

"Do you wish that someone else would bugger off so you could go back to _**Kevin**_?" Harry tried to focus on Draco's face, but he couldn't stop looking the long slender fingers stroking his wrist, wishing with all he had that he could feel them stroking something else.

"Not even for a second." Draco's face seemed to lose all trace of humour as it was overcome with an expression of pure lust, his lips parted slightly and his grey eyes focussed on Harry's lips. Harry moved to lean across the table to kiss him but Draco had other ideas. The both rose from their seats and Harry found himself flush against the other man, their lips crashing against each other and Harry's hands slid down Draco's back to grip his backside, even more grateful for the wizarding robes that provided only the flimsiest barrier between Harry's hands and Draco's skin.

"God, I want you." Draco pulled his lips from Harry's to sigh wantonly against Harry's ear, his own hands reaching up to grip Harry's hair with almost bruising force. Harry could only groan in agreement as he slipped his hands between the material of Draco's robes, where he found to his delight that Draco was only wearing a thin pair of silk boxers and nothing else.

"Someone's eager." Harry smiled against Draco's ear, his hands caressing the silk of Draco's underpants while the other man moaned in abandon and rutted against Harry.

"It's tradition. Wizards nowadays only wear clothes under robes because of Muggle influence." Somehow Draco still managed to be a pompous little brat even when his head was thrown back in pleasure and his hips were thrusting forward seeking some kind of friction.

"Yeah, well, you're still wearing too many clothes." Harry managed to prevent himself from simply ripping the robe from Draco's body, but only just, and then he reached up to pull off his own black shirt while Draco began deftly undoing the buttons of his jeans.

By the time they were both standing in nothing but their underwear Harry's mind was too filled with need and want to be able to properly enjoy the view of Draco's pale body, which, although not muscled like Harry's, was a lot fuller and more defined than it had been in school.

Harry led Draco over to the sofa where he pushed the blond down onto it, covering him with his own body seconds later. He held Draco's hands pinned above his head while he bucked his hips against Draco, their erections almost touching but for the fabric that still stood in their way.

Harry pulled their underpants away to bring their groins into contact, enjoying not only the feel of skin-on-skin but also the mewling sound it seemed to tear from Draco's own throat. Harry leaned back down to bite at Draco's neck, licking the spot soothingly as it turned deep red, whilst all the while his hand kept stroking.

Draco seemed almost lost in a haze of lust before he brought his own hand around the two erections, forcing his gaze upwards to look Harry in the eye as he moved his hand sensuously up and down, his breath hitching as his eyes fluttered closed and Harry moved to kiss his lips again, bruisingly, as if he wanted to emphasise just how much he wished they had thought to do this before, years before. Harry suddenly felt he had been missing out on something huge, even though he'd had numerous sexual encounters before, but this was…

Draco whimpered as Harry brought his free hand down to stroke the smooth curve of his backside through his boxers, and with that the blond threw his head back and pushed up into Harry's grip, his own hand falling to the side as he came.

The sight of it was enough to make Harry speed up his own hand and soon he was tumbling over the edge, too, giving in to the pleasure of being here, of doing this with Draco. As the last waves of his climax subsided Harry collapsed onto Draco's chest and settled a sloppy kiss to the spot just below his ear. The blond squirmed and said "Potter," in a breathless way which Harry assumed was meant to be admonishment but in reality held no sting. Har

As he was lulled into sleep by the rhythmic rise-and-fall of Draco's chest, Harry had to admit a newfound, albeit grudging, fondness for Newcastle.

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><p>Please read and review! :)<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a <em>gracious <em>host that Harry will soon come around...

**A/N: **A longer chapter this time because chapter 6 is quite a bit shorter than normal. :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

The next morning Harry woke with a crick in his neck and an uncomfortable twinge in his knee from sleeping in such a strange position on the sofa. Still, when Harry looked down at the sleeping blond beneath him, his warm breath tickling Harry's neck, he couldn't really say that the stiffness in his body wasn't worth it.

Speaking of stiffness, Harry couldn't pretend to be ignorant of the erection pressing into his hipbone, nor to be oblivious to his own matching one. Trying to disentangle his limbs without waking Draco, Harry decided to take a quick shower and deal with his morning wood, hoping that the other man would be awake before Harry had to leave for work in an hour.

"Dear God, Potter, get off me will you? You great brute!" Draco was evidently at his most charming at seven thirty in the morning.

"I've been on top of you all night, Malfoy, don't pretend it bothers you now," Harry shot back, albeit climbing off the sofa and tucking his erection back into his boxers as he did so.

"I can tell! I think I might have crushing injuries, or internal bleeding at the very least. How much do you weigh, Potter?"

Draco pulled himself into a sitting position and began stretching out his limbs wincing as he rolled his shoulders.

"Not enough, apparently, if you're still able to talk." Draco smiled then and held out his hand to be helped up from the sofa, which Harry obliged despite their insults.

"Whatever. I'm going for a shower." Draco walked over to the red spiral staircase, pausing to throw a come-hither look over his shoulder when he reached the first step. "Are you coming?"

Harry didn't need to be asked twice.

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><p>When Harry entered one of the Ministry lifts an hour later, he was wearing what could only be described as a rather self-satisfied grin, having reduced Draco to begging in the shower before proceeding to fuck him with a reckless abandon he hadn't even known he was capable of.<p>

"What are you so happy about?" Harry turned to see Ron entering the lift, a knowing grin breaking out onto his freckled face as he surmised that Harry apparently 'got some' last night.

"Just, you know," Harry answered enigmatically, taking in the fact that Ron was not the only Auror entering the lift. In fact, he was now joined by 10 of the most senior Aurors in the Minstry, their battle-scarred faces looking unusually drawn and concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ron replied jovially before looking to his boss, who nodded stiffly and illuminated the button for Level 9, Department of Mysteries.

Harry quirked a brow at Ron, wondering what would require the co-operation of the Aurors and Unspeakables, but he knew he wouldn't be able to find out in present company.

"Want to go for dinner in the Leaky?" He asked, aiming for nonchalance but probably falling short; these Aurors all had years of experience behind them in rooting out insincerity and lies, after all.

Still, Ron nodded at him with a small smile, which Harry returned before leaving the lift at his own level, his mind sufficiently distracted by all the events of that morning to prevent him making as much headway with the mountains of paperwork still covering his desk as he probably should have.

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><p>By the time Harry made it to the Leaky he was more than ready for a heavy dose of Firewhisky. He'd managed to work through about a month's worth of old paperwork in the three hours that he'd been at his desk, and was more than slightly concerned that he wouldn't actually be able to get through the remaining twenty-three months' worth by his deadline in two weeks.<p>

Nevertheless, upon seeing Ron entering the pub, closely followed by Hermione, both wearing equally harried expressions and seemingly deep in rushed conversation, Harry managed to push all his own problems from his mind.

"What's wrong?" He asked after embracing Hermione and clapping Ron on the back in greeting. It wasn't that Ron and Hermione never worked together; in fact, their respective departments had collaborated about three times in the last few years.

Still, the Unspeakables only chose to share their operations under very _**very**_ serious circumstances. The fact that they felt the need to meet with the Aurors was generally a sign that something rather dangerous was being carried out.

"Harry, you know we can't tell you that." Hermione sighed, fiddling with the clasp of her Unspeakable robes as Ron gestured to Tom to bring them two bottles of Butterbeer.

"How bad is it?" Harry asked instead, knowing from experience that there were often ways to find out information without having to ask Hermione directly and jeopardise her career.

"It's bad, mate." Ron sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "We have nothing concrete at the minute, but from our estimates there's something serious in the works. Something really dark. Luckily the Prophet hasn't got hold of it yet, but it's only a matter of time with them lot."

He shared a look with Hermione and Harry felt (not for the first time) rather isolated. Then again, he had made his choice, as he'd told Draco. It wasn't that he resented the work that Hermione and Ron did; it was more the fact that he hated being the one left out of the loop all the time.

"Murders?"

"Not as such." Hermione tried to hedge the question and Harry knew he wouldn't get anything more definitive than that. Sighing, he downed his glass of Firewhisky and ordered himself a Butterbeer and a plate of chips, contenting himself with changing the conversation to more light-hearted subjects that the trio could discuss openly.

* * *

><p>A few days after his conversation with Ron and Hermione, Harry was laid out on Draco's sofa, watching the evening news while Draco finished getting ready to go out to the cinema. He was contemplating turning off the set after the national news had finished when the headline story of the local network caught his ear.<p>

"Northumbria Police have published reports of another missing person in the Newcastle area, bringing the total number of unexplained disappearances in the last two weeks to twelve," the greying newsreader announced in his slightly accented voice.

"Robert Durnley, twenty-seven, a local resident, went missing on Saturday evening after leaving a friend's party alone. Durnley, like all other eleven victims, lived within a five mile radius of Newcastle city centre, but shares nothing else in common with those who have disappeared recently. Police have urged local residents to be cautious, and ask once more that if anyone has any information related to these events, to come forward and contact the police via the contact details displayed on your screen now."

Harry frowned as he took in the pictures of the missing people, his detective mind trying to figure out why anyone would take such a broad spectrum of people. From what he could tell, there were two children under the age of ten, three elderly men, two young Asian women, a black couple who appeared to be in their forties and two blond teenagers who looked like brother and sister. Along with Durnley, they made what struck Harry as the most mismatched and disjointed group of victims he'd ever seen.

However, before he could get too caught up in the mystery, Draco had sauntered down the stairs and planted himself in Harry's lap, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" He smirked, leaving Harry confused for a minute before he turned his face pointedly towards the TV on the wall. "You can't save everyone, Potter. Besides, they're Muggles, after all."

Harry wanted to protest to that, to argue that Muggles were just as deserving of help as everybody else and that surely Draco had come to realise that over the last six years. But then Draco slipped his hand down the front of Harry's jeans and gripped his already burgeoning erection, and as soon as their skin came into contact, Harry forgot all about the news report and Draco's brash comments and lost himself in the feeling of heady lust that overtook him.

* * *

><p>The next day the Ministry seemed to be overrun with memos; Harry saw them flying through the atrium, they accompanied him in the lift, and when he stepped through the doors to the DMLE, he was almost overwhelmed by the thunderous sound of their flapping paper wings. It seemed that everyone in the department was receiving one of the charmed paper planes, and Harry was no exception.<p>

Taking his seat, Harry was immediately greeted by his own pale-violet memo, which he unfolded and spread out on his desk, noting before anything else that this memo had come from the Minister for Magic himself.

"_**To:**__ All members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE), All members of the Department of Mysteries, All members of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes_

_**RE:**__ Inter-departmental Meeting, 12.30 pm._

_The Ministry has received intelligence that a new form of curse is being developed, one which, if successfully implemented, would most definitely be categorised as the fourth Unforgiveable. In order to prevent this, it is imperative that all aforementioned departments cooperate to locate and apprehend the wizard(s) responsible. _

_Therefore, a meeting has been scheduled this lunchtime (12.30 pm) in Meeting Room 1, Level 1, to inform all employees of the situation and proposed operations. All members of these three departments MUST attend this meeting. Any employee found to be absent without good reason will be treated as suspect and will be submitted to questioning under Veritaserum to determine any involvement._

_Kingsley Shacklebolt  
>Minister for Magic"<em>

After Harry finished reading, the memo began tearing itself up and disappeared into nothingness, and Harry scanned the room to scrutinise the faces of his colleagues, noticing that they all appeared to be just as confused and on edge as he was.

"The Unspeakables first reported that they detected significant traces of dark magic being employed in a relatively low-magic area one month ago. This was at the same time that it was discovered that a number of classified files had been missing for some time, files pertaining to the banishment and destruction of the Dementors." Kingsley's voice was as deep and stern as it had always been, demanding attention and commanding the respect of all those gathered in Meeting Room 1. Even the sound of their breath, which should have been audible owing to their numbers, seemed to have been smothered by the Minister's words.

It was common knowledge that the Dementors had been, for lack of a better word, destroyed after the end of the War. They were seen as too great a threat after they had sided with Voldemort and grown accustomed to praying indiscriminately on Muggles and Wizardkind alike. Harry didn't know if they had been killed per se, as he didn't know whether they'd even been alive in the first place, but in any case, the Dementors were no more. Still, Harry began to wonder if there was something more to it, considering even the files on Voldemort and the Death Eater trials were not 'classified'.

"The Unspeakables had tried to monitor the use of this dark magic, but after a number of weeks, the trail vanished, and it was unclear as to whether this meant whoever had been practicing the magic had stopped, or just found a way to conceal it from Ministry organs."

Harry took in the hard expressions of the Unspeakables; they normally appeared so emotionless and impassive, so difficult to read, but today it was clear to see by all in attendance that they were frustrated. The Unspeakables were the over-achievers, the perfectionists, the wizards and witches who were the best in their fields. To have to admit to needing help, to have to enlist the aid of other departments, was something they all seemed to take as a blow to their pride.

"Then, about three weeks ago, the Auror division noted a number of mysterious disappearances in the North of England. As they began to investigate, they realised that these disappearances bore evidence of magic, even though those who were taken were ordinary Muggle residents."

As Harry listened, he began to get a cold feeling of dread in his stomach. These were the disappearances that he had seen on the news the night before in Draco's flat.

"After six Muggles were reported missing with no leads on who had taken them or why, the Auror Division enlisted the help of the Unspeakables, and it was discovered that the disappearances were taking place in the same area as the dark magic that had been detected just weeks before."

As Shacklebolt paused for breath, a map appeared on the wall at the front behind the Heads of Department, pinpointing the location of the disappearances and the dark magic. As Harry squinted he could make out the close proximity of the points to Draco's flat and bistro, and a snide voice in his head reminded him of Draco's flippant comment from the night before: "they're Muggles, after all".

Harry tried to shake off the feeling that Draco was somehow involved, tried to remind himself of the reasons Draco had given him for being in Newcastle, but thirteen years of mistrust and enmity proved to be a great deal more persuasive than almost three weeks of tenuous friendship and a few (admittedly brilliant) sexual encounters. Even before Kingsley elaborated, Harry had decided to question Draco, just to make sure that the expression "once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater" wasn't true in this instance.

"At first we were unsure as to the reason behind these disappearances, but after much investigative work by the Auror Division and research undertaken by the Unspeakables we believe we have now discovered it."

The map of Newcastle was suddenly replaced by a picture of the gaunt, blank faces of the blond siblings. Their eyes were so dark and devoid of emotion that they might as well not have even been there at all. Their faces were so slack that their mouths hung open, emphasising the sharpness of their cheekbones which protruded as the skin was stretched tighter over their features. Harry wanted to look away, but the picture was so haunting that he felt entranced by it.

"Alex and Andrea Willington were found by Auror Cavendish whilst he was patrolling the outskirts of the city. As far as he could tell, they were not conscious of themselves nor of their surroundings, and after escorting them to St. Mungo's to be checked over, it was deduced that the pair were soulless."

A murmur broke out throughout the Meeting Room as the occupants repeated the word to those around them, as if to make sure they had heard right. Soulless. No one had been found in such a state since before the Dementors had been destroyed. So what did this mean?

"It is the belief of the Auror Division and the Department of Mysteries that whoever stole the classified files on the Dementors and whoever was responsible for the traces of dark magic found in Newcastle is also the one behind this. We have reason to believe that the souls of these teenagers were taken by a curse, as opposed to the Dementor's Kiss, and that whoever has developed this curse will attempt to now employ it against the wizarding community."

There was a gasp from the opposite side of the room, and all around Harry people began to cover their mouths or shake their heads. He had to share in their assessment that this was Very Bad News and once more tried to rid himself of the suspicion that Draco was behind this. Surely even he wasn't that cruel?

"Do you have any idea who's behind it?" A middle-aged Auror Harry didn't recognise shouted to the front.

"At present all we have is a hunch." The Head of the Department of Mysteries, Orius Clearwater, was apparently so conditioned to giving vague answers that it was now second-nature to him.

"Obviously whoever took the classified files is either the one, or at least working in collaboration with the one, behind the curse. Those files contained detailed information collected by the Department of Mysteries about Dementor magic and their genetic make-up. However, all Unspeakables have been subjected to questioning under Veritaserum and no one has been found culpable. As such, we have no clear leads about who is responsible." Ron's boss, Head Auror Robertson was only slightly more forthcoming with his information.

"What are_** we**_ meant to do if you don't even know who we're looking for?" A young wizard who, judging by the teal coloured robes, was an Obliviator, complained loudly, and a quiet murmur of agreement passed amongst the assembled crowd.

"Stay alert." Kingsley's voice was not raised, but the warning was evident by the glint of his dark eyes. "The Aurors and Unspeakables will continue to search for the culprit, but in the interests of inter-departmental cooperation and the overall safety of our world we must all be aware of the danger that is out there and the necessity of constant vigilance." A few Aurors, as well as those involved with the Order of the Phoenix during the War, smiled wryly at the use of Moody's favoured motto.

"Any suspicious behaviour that you notice, any possible clues, any trace of the missing Muggles must be reported immediately. You will each receive copies of the profiles of the Muggles still out there in the hopes that they will be found unharmed. In any case, I should not need to impress upon you all the need for discretion. This cannot be released to the press. The Prophet will do nothing but create mass hysteria and that will only hinder our progress."

The room nodded in understanding, most faces now schooled into expressions of determination as they realised the gravity of what they were facing.

"Good luck to you all. You are dismissed." The Minister nodded at them and they began to file out of the room, each employee receiving a dossier on the Muggles on the way out. Harry took his and shrunk it to fit into his back pocket, deciding upon exiting the meeting room that he had no desire to work on his paperwork today. He had to go back up to Newcastle and confront a certain blond.

* * *

><p>Please read and review! :)<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a _gracious _host that Harry will soon come around...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

When Harry Apparated to the doorway of Draco's flat, he deliberated for a brief moment over whether he should just let himself in or wait for Draco to open the door. Technically he had let himself in enough times recently for it to be acceptable, except in those instances it had been as Draco's guest with Draco knowing that Harry was dropping by. This visit however was completely unannounced and would most likely not be welcomed by the blond.

Deciding to knock first, Harry forced himself to be patient and clear his mind; he had no proof that Draco had done anything, just his own (somewhat irrational) suspicions. He couldn't go around firing off allegations of illegal activity without asking Draco a number of questions first.

"Potter!" Harry noticed the brief look of surprise that crossed over Draco's face and for a moment he felt incredibly guilty for even considering Draco. Then again, he had to do this. No one else knew Draco was here; maybe that was the reason the Ministry was having such trouble finding the culprit. Draco was, after all, more than proficient in warding and concealment charms.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." Draco smiled uncertainly at him, obviously trying to ascertain the reason behind the impromptu visit.

"I need to ask you some things," Harry announced after sitting down in the second beige recliner, turning to face Draco who sat in his usual seat.

"Regarding what, exactly?" At the guarded tone of Draco's voice, Harry once again had to fight against warring feelings of guilt and suspicion.

"You know last night, you said, 'they're Muggles, after all', about those people who'd disappeared?" Harry waited for Draco to nod before continuing. "What did you mean by it?"

Draco frowned before replying.

"What do you mean, what do I mean by it?"

"Just answer the question, Draco."

"No. What's all this about, Potter?"

"Those missing Muggles, Draco. What do you know about their disappearances?"

Draco stared at him incredulously for a few moments before he scoffed and shook his head.

"I can't believe you. You think _**I'm **_responsible? After everything I've been though. After everything I've _**told**_ you-"

"Then why did you say what you said last night?"

"Because they _**are **_Muggles, Potter. But I didn't mean it as in,_ 'oh well, what's the lives of a few measly Muggles in the grand scheme of all things devious?'_ I meant it as in, _'you're part of the **wizarding **law enforcement, Harry. You don't have jurisdiction over them because they're just Muggles'._"

Harry thought about that for a minute, deciding it sounded plausible enough. But then-

"What do you mean 'the lives of a few measly Muggles'?"

"Well I highly doubt they're being taken to go play dress up with a group of five-year-old girls, Potter. It'll be something much worse. There are sick people out there, you know."

"Like your old pals, right?"

"Are you kidding me, Potter?"

"Do I look like I'm messing around, Malfoy?"

Draco's face fell at the coldness in the way Harry spat his last name before he caught himself and made it impassive once more. And then suddenly they were back to where they'd been three weeks ago. Not trusting each other. Not letting the other see their emotions. Insulting to hurt, rather than to bond.

Except now it hurt Harry; seeing Draco shut him out was painful after being granted the chance to see his real self. But he knew it was necessary; if Draco- Malfoy had been kidnapping these Muggles with the intent to remove their souls, he would do whatever it took to bring him down.

"I don't know what you think I've done, Potter. But I am innocent. These people have been going missing for the last two weeks, during which time I've spent almost every evening with _**you **_if you don't remember. So how am I meant to have been kidnapping them exactly?"

"You could have an accomplice. For an operation like this you'd probably need one, since you couldn't get into the Ministry alone."

"An operation like what, Potter? To kidnap a few damn Muggles? I sure as hell don't think I'd need help with that, or have you forgotten who I am? What I did?"

Malfoy was on his feet, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing. Harry narrowed his eyes and rose to his feet too, moving closer to Malfoy to stare down at him.

"I remember exactly what you did, Malfoy. And I remember you had help that time, too. That's why I'm here. You think that you've got it all covered, don't you? Hiding behind this pretence of having a business, of not having any friends, of wanting to live in the Muggle world. But it's all just a lie, isn't it?" Harry grabbed Draco's arm and ripped the sleeve back, exposing the black Mark that stood in stark contrast to the pale skin.

"You hated Muggles then, and you hate them now. Only this time, you get to kill two birds with one stone. Use Muggles as guinea pigs to experiment on before turning it on the wizards who exiled you, is that it? You're looking for revenge? Well I'm not going to let you, Malfoy!"

"Potter, you're deranged!" Malfoy tried to pull free of Harry's grip but Harry just moved his hands to grab the other man by the shoulders.

"Who are you working with, Malfoy?"

"I'm not working with anyone, Potter. Now let me go!"

"Or what? You'll use it on me?" Malfoy struggled in Harry's vice-like grip but Harry held on strong. He had to get to the bottom of this; he couldn't let Malfoy get away with treating him like a fool anymore, playing him for a sap while he went around developing a fourth Unforgiveable.

"Unhand me, Potter, you're talking nonsense."

"Tell me who you're working with, and we might go easy on you."

"For the last time-"

"Don't make me use magic to find out, Malfoy." There was a tense silence that followed that warning, almost as if Malfoy was gauging whether Harry was bluffing or not.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Potter." Malfoy glared at him and Harry felt his self-restraint slipping, the way it always did when Malfoy challenged him like this. He always had to prove something to the blond. Prove that he was capable, that he had guts. Before he could even think properly about what he was doing, Harry had his wand out and levelled at Malfoy's head.

_"Legili-"_

"NO!" Malfoy tore himself out of Harry's grasp and had his own wand out to cast a shield charm before Harry had even finished casting the spell. The spell rebounded but Harry was quick enough to deflect it before Malfoy got a chance to invade Harry's mind.

For a few long moments the two men stood facing each other, wands out, eyes narrowed and chests heaving. Neither seemed inclined to make the first move but in the end Malfoy straightened up and aimed his wand directly at Harry's chest.

"Get out." Harry made to move forward but Malfoy adjusted his wand as if ready to strike any moment and Harry put up his hands placatingly instead.

"Malfoy, come on, calm down."

"_**GO, **_Potter. Just go. Get out of my home, get out of my life, and this time don't bother coming back!"

Harry took one last look at Malfoy, at his wild eyes, his set jaw, his steady wand, and then Disapparated, feeling a dead weight settle into his stomach before he even reached his destination.

* * *

><p>Please read &amp; review! :)<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a _gracious _host that Harry will soon come around...

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 7<span>**

The next week passed a lot quicker than Harry thought it would. He managed to work through about eight months' work of his paperwork thanks to the fact that he no longer spent his evenings with Draco and could therefore work late into the night.

Still, he probably could have gotten even more done if he hadn't spent so long staring off into space and regretting what had happened to bring about this situation. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he'd acted like a complete arse. He was just as bad as the people who sent Howlers to threaten Draco's life, the ones who shut doors in his face because they couldn't look beyond his past record to see who he'd become.

Except Harry was worse, because Draco had started to trust him, to open up to him, and Harry had betrayed that by trying to rape his mind.

Harry sighed heavily and rubbed his tired eyes beneath his glasses, jumping as he felt a hand touch his shoulder. When he turned he found Hermione's face peering down at him concernedly.

"Everything okay, Harry?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Harry didn't even know why he bothered lying to her anymore, she'd been able to see through his lies even when they were at Hogwarts together, so he had no idea why he thought he'd be able to deceive her now she was an Unspeakable. Still, pride makes you do strange things.

"Have you had lunch?"

"No, not yet."

"Right well, come on then. We're going now and you can tell me all about how 'fine' you are."

Hermione handed him his cloak and walked out of his cubicle to wait outside, leaving Harry to sigh again and wonder wistfully about when Hermione and Ron would finally have children so that she could mother them instead of him.

* * *

><p>"Right, Harry, what's going on?" Hermione did at least have the decency to allow Harry to order food and indulge in a bit of small talk before honing in on his morose behaviour, but Harry knew that once she started this conversation he would have no way out of it.<p>

"You wouldn't even believe me if I told you."

"Try me?" She smiled winningly at him.

"Do you know what happened to Draco Malfoy after the War?" He asked, hoping that starting at the very beginning would make things easier for both of them.

"Malfoy? He was…exiled wasn't he?" Hermione didn't wait for his nod of assent before carrying on rattling off details the way she used to recite potions ingredients from memory at Hogwarts. "Went to France from what I can remember, came back last year for a little while but then his mother died and no one's heard of him since then. Why?"

"He's in Newcastle."

Hermione frowned as she pondered this new piece of information; Harry couldn't help but wonder whether she suspected him of the Dementor's Kiss Curse, too. Part of him hoped she would, just to make him feel less of a paranoid jerk.

"Newcastle? Why would Malfoy be in Newcastle?"

"He says it's because it's as far away from London as you can get without leaving the country and because the wizards in Newcastle leave him alone."

Hermione frowned deeper. "And how do _**you**_ know all of this, Harry?"

"Because a few weeks ago I was up there on a job and I…found him. And I didn't understand why _**Malfoy **_would be in _**Newcastle **_of all places so I followed him." Hermione looked at him incredulously and Harry knew that if he didn't carry on talking he would be treated to a lecture about Harry's 'inability to let go of the past', or something along those lines.

"So I followed him. And we got talking and he told me."

"I see." Hermione paused for a second before continuing. "And what does this have to do with your current mood?"

Harry blushed as he realised he would have to disclose to Hermione that he had been sleeping with Draco Malfoy and hadn't told anyone.

"Well. I've kind of been…seeing him."

"Seeing him?"

"Yeah, and…I might have…slept with him."

"With MALFOY?" Hermione looked far too amused by the whole situation for Harry's liking.

"Yes, is it really that funny?"

"No, but the thought of Ron's face when we tell him-"

"We're _**not **_telling him. We're not telling anyone."

"Why not? Harry people have moved on, they don't care about the past anymore."

Harry felt a pang as he realised that he, too, had been that naïve before he had met Draco again. Trying to fight down the guilt that was forcing its way up, Harry focussed on dealing with the issue at hand.

"Because...we're not seeing each other anymore." There was a silence for a minute while Hermione looked at him sadly, pityingly, as she and Ron often did when one of his relationships ended and they worried that he'd never find someone.

"Oh Harry, what happened?"

"Well, I confronted him about what's happening in Newcastle, you know, the Dementor's Kiss stuff-"

"What do you mean 'confronted' him?"

"Well I thought it was a little coincidental that all these dark things were happening just five minutes from his home!"

"Did you have any proof?"

"Well the night before there had been a report on the Muggles disappearing and he said that we couldn't help them because they were 'Muggles, after all'. As if they're worth less than we are!"

"That was your proof? Harry, I thought you were meant to be a _**detective!**_ What happened to your rationality? What happened to your reasoning?"

"He's an ex-Death Eater, Hermione! What was I meant to do?" Harry knew he was being defensive, but the more he heard Hermione's argument, the more he was starting to realise how much of a fool he'd been.

"Oh come off it, Harry, you know as well as I do that you were wrong. And don't deny it because I can see it in your eyes! After what happened in the War, Harry, I would have thought you'd have given him the benefit of the doubt now." She sighed and looked at him with her head tilted to the side and he averted his eyes to look at the grainy table below.

"What am I gonna do?" he scrubbed at his face with his hands as if trying to rub away what he had done and the associated regret.

"Can't you just owl him and apologise?"

Harry scoffed. He had thought of that before, but then he realised the amount of wards Draco would have placed on his property to keep Harry away would render any such attempt useless.

"He has charms to keep owls from finding him." Harry rested his head on one hand and swirled his bottle of Butterbeer round in his other.

"Well is there anything you can think of to make it up to him?"

"He doesn't want to see me, Hermione."

Hermione retreated a bit at the harsh tone and Harry sent her an apologetic look. He really needed to sort himself out.

"Just…think on it, Harry. I'm sure something will come to you. Anyway I have to get back to work; I have a meeting with the Aurors to prepare for. I hope you work things out either way though. I hate seeing you like this, Harry," She kissed the top of his head and rubbed his back consolingly before picking up her bag and exiting the bar.

Harry watched her go before turning back to his now empty Butterbeer, deciding he might as well go back, too, if he wanted to avoid Mafalda's wrath.

* * *

><p>It didn't come to Harry right away. Overwhelmed as he was with reports of wizards casting Transfiguration spells in the presence of Muggles in order to earn some extra money for their tricks, Harry was understandably unable to think of a good enough way to make it up to Draco.<p>

The next evening however, as Harry was waiting in his kitchen for his microwaveable ready meal to cook, he realised what it was he could give Draco; even if Draco didn't want to be friends (or anything more for that matter), Harry could at least give him back his home, his ancestral home, which was incidentally as close to giving Draco his family back as Harry could get.

Forgetting all about the fluorescent yellow curry that was steaming in his microwave, Harry ran to get some parchment and scribbled a quick note to Hermione, asking her to send him all the files on the Malfoys and their Manor the next morning, knowing that as an Unspeakable she would be able to get hold of them without anyone asking questions, unlike if Harry tried to procure them himself.

As he watched his owl fade into the darkening night sky, Harry hoped that this would be enough.

* * *

><p>Despite being heavily invested in the Dementor's Kiss case, Hermione was able to spare enough of her time to help Harry work on the Manor. He had read through the files on the building and its former wards more times than he cared to admit, making sure he knew how to cast the enchantments, or at least had the information available so that Hermione would be able to cast them for him. And now here they were.<p>

Harry and Hermione both seemed to be fighting down memories of the last time they were here, memories of the War and of lost loved ones. But that was the whole reason for this, Harry made sure to point out. Draco had had practically his whole life taken from him because of the War; he had lost so much, now it was time to take things back and to make new memories.

They started work on the inside of the Manor first, noting that Narcissa had just sealed off most of the rooms before she had left for France three years before. Upon breaking the enchantments on these rooms, Harry and Hermione soon realised why: these were the rooms in which the Death Eater meetings and torture had been conducted.

Steeling themselves for the task ahead, Harry and Hermione worked on removing every shred of blood, every item of torture, every reminder of evil from these rooms. Luckily, they had the memories of cleaning out Number Twelve Grimmauld Place to help them, and a photograph taken from before the Second War from one of the Ministry files to guide them into replicating the home that Draco would remember.

They worked on every room in the Manor, either together or apart depending on their work schedules, and after about ten days they had completed every room but one; Draco's bedroom.

When he reached the bedroom, Harry couldn't stop the feelings of guilt and remorse that flooded him. There was no place else in the Manor like this to remind him that Draco had just been a boy when he left home, when he was forced into exile. Along the walls were posters of famous wizarding Quidditch players, all in Falmouth Falcon colours except for the signed picture of Viktor Krum that seemed to take pride of place in the centre. All of Draco's old Slytherin clothes (folded into piles) and Hogwarts books (neatly organised on his desk) were here, too. There was even a photo of the Slytherins together by the lake in what must have been the summer term of fifth year.

Harry didn't really know what to do with this room; if Draco did come back he would no doubt take the master bedroom which Harry and Hermione had already tried to restore to its former opulence (and which Harry thought they managed to achieve, if he was honest). It seemed nonsensical to destroy this room and all the memories it held. Harry knew himself how fondly he looked back on his years at Hogwarts, even in spite of the way his time there had ended.

Taking one last look around and casting a spell to banish any dust that had settled in the room, Harry's eyes fell on a black wooden box on top of the chest of drawers which seemed out of place in comparison to the oak furnishings of the rest of the room.

Casting a detection spell to check for any dark magic and finding none, Harry took the box from the chest of drawers and sat on the bed to open it. Inside was a small Pensieve surrounded by around twenty vials of silvery strands that Harry recognised immediately as memories, and propped up in the front was an envelope addressed to Draco.

Harry knew that breaking the seal of the envelope and reading the letter would be too much of an invasion of Draco's privacy, something which had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

However, he found himself losing the battle with his self-restraint not to view the memories in the Pensieve. Those at least he could return to their vials after viewing and Draco would not have to know that he'd seen them.

Knowing that Hermione was busy taming the Malfoy gardens which had grown rather wild without anyone performing the necessary maintenance spells for over three years, Harry uncorked the first vial and poured it into the Pensieve. Taking a deep breath for prepare himself for whatever he might see in this memory, Harry plunged his head into the bowl and felt himself falling through nothingness and landing on a patch of grass.

Harry took in the scene: a bright summer's day judging by the flowers that were in bloom, and the three Malfoys were together in the garden. Lucius was sat on a white patio chair, a small smile playing on his lips (and Harry had to do a double-take to ascertain that it was a real smile, never having seen one on Malfoy senior before) as he watched Draco riding a broom for what looked like the first time.

Draco couldn't have been any more than five years old, his chubby cheeks split apart by a huge grin as he hovered above the ground on a training broom while his mother took photos of him with an old-fashioned wizarding camera.

As Draco zoomed after a Kneazle that had wandered onto the pristinely trimmed grass, giggling in excitement as he rode, Narcissa walked back to where her husband was seated and leant against his shoulder. She set the camera down on the table in front of Lucius and smiled down at him as he took her hand in his and squeezed gently.

Harry just had time to catch a glimpse of the proud expressions on both of the elder Malfoys' faces before he found himself being ejected from the memory and resurfacing on Draco's bed, completely overwhelmed by what he had just witnessed and feeling even more determined to watch the others.

* * *

><p>The rest of the memories chronicled similar events; moments in Draco's life that had evidently made his mother or father or both of them proud. There was the morning Narcissa told Lucius she was pregnant, the first time Draco made red sparks come out of his wand, the memory of Lucius recounting to Narcissa how Draco had helped Slytherin win their first Quidditch game against Ravenclaw…there were even memories from the War: Narcissa watching as Draco denied that it was Harry Potter that the Snatchers had caught, Narcissa watching as Draco and Harry shook hands outside the courtroom after Harry had testified on his behalf, Narcissa watching as Draco was sentenced to exile but neither cried nor showed any outward sign of fear.<p>

By the time Harry had seen all twenty memories, he felt profoundly upset by what he had seen. Narcissa had loved her son so much, was so proud of him, and yet they had been ripped apart by things bigger than themselves.

As well as this sadness, Harry also felt a great deal of guilt. After having seen such intimate parts of the Malfoy family life, snapshots of what Draco was really like, he couldn't fight the shame he felt for having accused Draco of developing the Dementor's Kiss curse. Now more than anything Harry felt determined to make amends. He decided to take the box with him when he went to tell Draco about the Manor, hoping the nostalgia and pull of his mother's love would draw him back to his real home.

* * *

><p>Please Read &amp; Review! :)<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a gracious host that Harry will soon come around...

**Chapter 8**

After two weeks of working on the Manor, Harry and Hermione finally set the last ward around the property; the one that would prevent trespass by anyone not of Malfoy blood. They knew that after this enchantment only Draco would be able to gain or grant others access to the property. With a final flourish of their wands, Harry pulled Hermione into an embrace, not knowing how to say how thankful he was for her help, but hoping she would understand nonetheless.

Harry decided to go home and shower before taking the box to Draco, taking longer than he ordinarily would have due to the apprehension he was feeling over the meeting. Shutting off the water he forced himself out of the shower and into a smart pair of grey trousers and a white shirt that he didn't bother buttoning all the way up, hoping to diminish some of the formality of the rest of the ensemble.

When Harry finally Apparated to Draco's doorstep, the black box under one arm, he swore he could hear raised voices coming from Draco's flat. He took out his wand with his spare hand and froze, his ears straining to pick out what was being said above.

"Get off me!" That was definitely Draco's voice, tinged with what Harry thought was an edge of fear.

Harry wondered how he was meant to get into the flat to help since he knew without even checking that the wards would have been changed to keep him out and therefore a simple _'Alohomora_' would no longer suffice.

Before he had time to dwell on that however, Harry had to duck from the explosion that rippled through Draco's apartment, the force of it taking out all of the windows on the second floor.

Deciding that he couldn't wait any longer, Harry shouted a _'REDUCTO'_at Draco's front door, the spell knocking it off its hinges and allowing Harry entry to the apartment. As soon as he reached the top step though, Harry realised that Draco was already gone.

Whatever the blast had been, it had destroyed not only Draco's windows, but also his beloved beige recliner, which now lay in pieces scattered across the floor, and the comfortable blue sofa that Harry had grown fond of, which now had a gaping hole in its centre and stuffing falling to the floor in the aftermath.

Looking around, Harry noticed that the rest of the apartment was not much better off. All of Draco's glasses and bottles of wine had been shattered by the blast and Draco's favourite coffee cup lay in shards on the breakfast counter, his beloved Kopi Luak dripping sinisterly down the side of the bench onto the floor.

Harry had a brief moment of panic about what had happened to Draco before he set his mind to work. Draco faced threats every day from wizards and witches who felt that he had deserved worse than exile; no doubt many of them felt he should have received the worst. And what used to be the worst punishment in the wizarding world?

The Dementor's Kiss.

Whoever had developed the curse was the culprit behind Draco's kidnap, of that Harry was sure. And if that was the case, that meant that whoever had taken him was residing in the Newcastle area.

Allowing himself a moment to consider the way this whole situation had come full circle, Harry set about casting the tracking spell to find Draco, the same as he had done all those weeks ago when he first came to Newcastle. Within minutes he had located what seemed to be the most likely place, hoping that it was where Draco was being kept and that the detection element of the spell had managed to work past whatever concealment charms had prevented the Unspeakables from locating the dark magic being used.

Harry set down the black wooden box on Draco's breakfast bar, took a deep breath, and Disapparated with a loud crack.

* * *

><p>When Draco regained consciousness, he immediately noticed that he was no longer in his own apartment. With a grimace he remembered the explosion and the mass destruction of his beloved sash windows, realising that he must have been knocked out by the force and brought here by Nott.<p>

Nott. Draco had never trusted the slippery little fucker. He'd spent ninety-eight percent of his time at Hogwarts shut up in his room reading or asking for permission from Professor Snape to enter the Restricted Section of the library. Nott was smart enough not to swear allegiance to either side in the War and, despite his father's involvement with the Dark Lord and his own pure-blood supremacy ideology, had managed to emerge from the chaos unscathed.

But then he'd disappeared completely, and by the time Draco had returned from exile he had forgotten all about the quiet pasty boy who seemed now to be from another life. From Draco's old life.

"Oh, Draco, good, you're awake again." Nott smiled at Draco but there was no warmth behind it. It was a sadistic smile of a man who had become unhinged and thought only of revenge. Draco knew that Nott blamed him for the Dark Lord's demise and the subsequent crossfire that had brought down Nott senior, or at the very least Nott blamed the Malfoy family.

"What do you want from me, Nott?" Draco tried to seem indifferent and only mildly irritated but he couldn't fight the fear that was clawing at his insides and which bubbled away just below the surface.

"You know the answer to that, don't you, Draco? I want to see you suffer. I want you to pay for your defection."

"I have paid for it! I pay for it every second of every day in this mimicry of a life I now lead!"

"Come now, Draco. We both know that's not real suffering."

"And what would you know about suffering, Nott? You conveniently missed out on the War and then disappeared from the face of the Earth while the rest of us were punished-"

"Punished? You think you were punished? You think living it up in Paris was a punishment? You think your father living out his days in a cosy little cell in Azkaban without the Dementors to keep him in check was a punishment? You think your mother-"

"_**Don't**_ talk about my mother! Don't you _**dare**_." Nott's face broke out into a sinister grin and his eyes glittered in amusement as Draco finally lost control of his temper.

"I don't think you're really in a position to make demands like that, Draco." Nott flicked his wand and restraints pinned Draco's wrists and ankles down to the bed on which he had woken up. Then he nodded to someone Draco couldn't see because of the shadows, and Draco suddenly found himself under the Cruciatus curse, his whole body tensing and shuddering in agony, his jaw clenched so tightly to prevent him from screaming that he felt like his teeth were crushing each other.

When it was all over, Draco looked up weakly at the man who had emerged from the shadows, a man who must have been at least fifty, with ragged grey hair and blue eyes as deranged as Nott's, a man Draco recognised from the Death Eater meetings as Augustus Rookwood.

"You know, you look so much like your mother when you're under torture." Rookwood smiled and bared his rotten teeth at Draco, who struggled weakly against his restraints.

"What would you know about such things?" Draco tried to spit at him but his body was still quivering in the wake of Cruciatus. In the end he just sagged against the headboard of the bed, breathing deeply to calm his nerves.

"Didn't you ever find out who attacked her that day, Draco?" Nott smirked and Draco realised that this was his mother's murderer. He had of course tried to uncover the truth, but his own reputation as a former Death Eater was enough to convince the authorities not to investigate any longer than was necessary, and by that time the trail had gone too cold for Draco to pursue himself.

"You?"

"Both of us, and a few others, but don't worry they're not here tonight, Draco. They got themselves sent off to Azkaban for illegal potions smuggling, so it's just the three of us now."

Draco tried to fight the bile that was trying to surge upwards through his throat; these men had tortured and killed his mother. The fact that they had him bound, wandless and alone was definitely not a good sign.

"You see, Draco, Augustus and I met up a few months after the War when we were both trying to evade the Ministry. And we spent a little while torturing the families of certain Ministry officials and so-forth, but then we realised that our time would be much better spent seeking revenge on the ones who were really to blame for the Dark Lord's fall."

"I think you'll find it was Potter who killed him, Nott." Draco wished he hadn't mentioned the Boy Wonder, now he felt even worse thinking about how things had ended with Harry.

"But it was your mother who lied about him being dead, Draco. Your mother saved Potter's life and in doing so she doomed us all."

"You doomed yourselves you stupid-"

_"CRUCIO!"_

Draco fell back as a new round of torture began, every nerve in his body screaming out in pain as he twisted and writhed against the ropes that bound him.

"That's enough, Augustus. We don't want him to pass out before the main event, after all." Nott's voice penetrated Draco's consciousness as he tried to pull himself back into a sitting position.

"Main…event?" he managed to gasp out weakly. Two sadistic smiles met him in response.

"Yes, Draco. You see, Augustus and I had a…brainwave, shall we say. We knew the Dementors had been destroyed after the War, but we wondered if there was a way to mimic their powers, to channel their magic in a simple, yet effective, curse. So, Rookwood, still in possession of Unspeakable-level security clearance at the Ministry – and really, how short-sighted and foolish can those bureaucrats get – was able to sneak in one night and steal a dossier. A very important dossier. All about the experiments conducted on the Dementors before they were destroyed."

Draco swallowed the bile that was now burning his throat, wishing he could find a way out of this situation.

"We studied it for several years, eventually working out a way to transfer the theory behind their magic into a practical application. Then we practiced. Sadly the first few Muggles that we tried it out on died because of a few kinks that we hadn't quite managed to work out. But no matter, we got rid of them and kidnapped some more, and then some more, until we finally got it right."

Draco closed his eyes as he remembered the Muggle disappearances that no one had been able to explain, the disappearances that Harry had accused him of. He had to choke back a bitter laugh at the irony that the real culprits were about to murder Draco himself.

"It's was quite funny, really, that the first time we got it to work was on two blonde teenagers. I wonder how much you'll look like them when we've finished with you, Draco."

"Go to hell, Nott." It was a last minute act of defiance, and a weak one, but he couldn't find a way out of here and if he didn't bite back he knew he was going to break down in front of these men.

"No, Augustus." Nott held up his hand to stop Rookwood casting what would probably have been another round of 'Crucio'. "I think the time for talking is over now." Nott stood in front of Draco and brandished his own wand, a menacing glint entering his eye and Draco had to force himself to meet it instead of looking away in fear.

"Goodbye, Draco. _Dementria Exâme_!"

* * *

><p>"NO!" Harry bellowed as he ran into the room, Stunning Rookwood, then Nott, before falling down beside Draco, whose breath was coming in shuddering gasps and whose eyes were rolling backwards into his head.<p>

Harry had arrived at the boarded up pharmacist's in time to catch all of Nott's admission, not only of developing the Dementor's Kiss Curse with Rookwood, but also of the torture and murder of Narcissa Malfoy. Harry had wanted to intervene as soon as he arrived, but he had held back, hoping that he would catch enough information to be able to prosecute Nott and Rookwood later on.

But Harry hadn't counted on the pair using the curse against Draco so suddenly, and now Draco was suffering yet again because of him. Harry smoothed back the blond strands of hair from his clammy forehead, unsure whether to remove the restraints or whether that would cause Draco to inflict more pain upon himself.

"Mum…no…noo…" Draco whimpered as he tried to curl away from whatever was haunting his mind. From what Harry could tell, this curse was designed to inflict a slow and agonising death on the victim as all of their happy memories were ripped from them.

"Come on, Draco, fight this." Harry finally decided to release the restraints binding Draco's body to the bed and grabbed onto his cold hand.

"Don't…don't leave me…mum…" Draco's eyes were leaking with tears as his voice cracked and grew more and more hoarse with each word.

"Draco, don't give in," Harry pleaded with the blond, trying to think of a way around this. No one but Rookwood and Nott knew anything about the curse, but Harry refused to Ennervate them to question them. It would only waste more time, time that Draco was running out of if his grey pallor was any indication.

Dementors…Harry wondered if the principles of fighting Dementors were the same for combatting this curse. He figured it was worth a shot.

"Draco, Draco, look at me." Instead of expecting a response from the delirious blond, Harry pulled his head down to face him, feeling slightly unnerved by the demented look in his grey eyes. "You have to think of happy memories, Draco, the happiest you can think of. And then we have to say the counter curse, okay? We have to say_ 'Expecto Patronum',_ Draco."

Harry received no response but he refused to give up hope. He started chanting the words under his breath, holding onto Draco's cheek with one hand and his shaking hand in Harry's other.

"Happy memories, Draco. You can do this. _Expecto Patronum_." Harry got the impression that Draco wasn't able to focus on any memories by himself, so Harry tried to push him.

"What about the first time you ever rode a broom, Draco? And your parents were watching you and they were so proud, Draco, do you remember that? _Expecto Patronum_."

Harry realised that he himself had no idea about any happy memories Draco might have, so instead he tried to use the memories he had viewed in the Malfoy Pensieve, hoping those would be enough.

"What about the day you were sorted into Slytherin, Draco? Just like everyone else in your family, just like all your friends. Do you remember how happy you were that day? _Expecto Patronum!_"

"_Ex..pec..to.._"

Harry looked up as Draco seemed to be gaining a little more of his natural colour, daring to hope that this was actually working.

"Yes, Draco, come on say it with me,_ Expecto Patronum_!"

"_Expecto…Pa...Pa.._."

"Come on Draco, what about second year? What about when you made the Quidditch team? Think about how happy it made you. And you know it wasn't because of your father, you know you were made Seeker because you deserved it, Draco. I just never gave you enough credit." Harry choked a little as he clutched Draco's hand, continuing to chant the counter curse under his breath as he watched Draco struggle to form the words himself.

"_Expecto…Patronum..."_

Harry let out a shaky smile and adjusted his grip on Draco's hand. "What about meeting Viktor Krum, Draco? What about getting his autograph, do you remember how happy that made you? _Expecto Patronum!_"

"_Expecto…Patronum…_" Draco was clearly getting stronger, but Harry worried that it wasn't going to be enough. He was running out of happy memories to coach Draco along.

"What about us, Draco? Did I make you happy? Even for a little bit?" Harry couldn't help but bring this up. He knew it had made him happy, and he remembered the exultation he felt when he saw Draco smile at him genuinely for the first time. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

"_Expecto Patronum!_" Draco's voice was definitely clearer that time, and Harry wondered whether that's what they needed. Whether they both had to concentrate on their own happy memories. Harry hadn't been there for any of the previous memories; maybe that's why it hadn't worked so far.

Harry concentrated on all of his happy memories; how he felt when he himself made his House Quidditch team in first year…

"_Expecto Patronum!_ Keep thinking of your memories, Draco."

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

How he felt when Sirius asked him to live with him in his third year…

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

How he felt when Ron came back to him and rescued him from the icy lake in what should have been their seventh year…

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

Harry could see Draco coming back to himself now, the shivers easing off, the haunted look in his eyes diminishing.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

Harry thought about how it felt to be named Godfather of Teddy and to feel like he was part of a family…

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

He thought about how he felt at Hermione and Ron's wedding, watching his two best friends dance and look at each other as if there was nothing else in the world…

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

Harry looked at Draco and remembered how it felt to kiss him, to hold him, to be inside him…

"_Expecto Pat-!_" Draco's chant was cut short as Harry leant in and kissed him for all that he had, trying to pour in all of his feelings into one kiss; how sorry he was for accusing him of kidnapping those Muggles, how scared he was that Draco wasn't going to recover, how much he ached to be near Draco and how much he'd missed him those last few weeks. In his head, Harry tried to carry on the chant non-verbally, noticing that Draco was no longer shaking and his skin was finally warming up…

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ They both said it together as they broke the kiss, staring into each other's eyes, before Draco was thrown backwards onto the bed by an invisible force, his chest rising up as a black cloud was ripped from inside of him, followed by two glowing silver figures, which Harry quickly recognised as his own stag patronus, and a proud eagle, which must have been Draco's own.

Harry watched in fascination as the black cloud morphed into the shape of a miniature Dementor and was chased off by the two silver animals, eventually fading into dust as the curse was broken.

The patronuses remained for a moment before they too faded into nothingness, and Harry was shocked back to looking at Draco, who, although safe from the Dementor's Kiss Curse, now looked thoroughly exhausted.

"Harry…" He gasped out weakly and Harry leant down to kiss his forehead.

"It's okay, I've got you. You're alright."

And then, with an almost imperceptible nod, Draco's body slumped onto the bed as he was finally overcome by exertion.

* * *

><p>Please Read and Review :)<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a gracious host that Harry will soon come around...

Chapter 9

After Draco passed out, Harry cast _'Petrificus Totalus_' over the unconscious forms of Nott and Rookwood, then bound them with _'Incarcerous'_just for good measure. Finally, he cast tracer charms of both men, just in case they managed to break free before the Aurors arrived, whom Harry sent for with his Patronus before he picked up Draco's limp form and Apparated him to St Mungo's.

Harry didn't know whether he should stay with Draco in the hospital, but in the end he decided against it. He needed to get back to work anyway; his deadline for the completion of his outstanding paperwork was up and Harry hadn't managed to get it finished on time.

As he walked into Hopkirk's office he sighed heavily. As he'd said to himself at the start of the month, he doubted that he would lose his job over this, but he would definitely receive a bollocking for his laziness.

"Harry!" Mafalda cried out as he entered her office, directing him to the chair in front of her desk as she walked round to take her own. "I've heard all about your apprehension of Nott and Rookwood; everyone's very impressed, Harry." She beamed at him proudly and offered him a cup of tea, which he politely declined.

"It was a complete coincidence, Ma'am. I didn't know Nott and Rookwood were the ones behind it, I just went to find Draco…"

"Malfoy, yes, of course. We wondered how he was involved."

"Nott and Rookwood wanted revenge for the downfall of Voldemort. They blamed the Malfoys for their loss and that's why they murdered Narcissa in France last year. They captured Draco this time to make him pay for what they saw as his defection in the War."

"I see. But how did you know where Malfoy was?" Harry squirmed in his seat as he realised he would have to admit to missing important details from his paperwork, such as the fact that he had happened across an infamous ex-Death Eater holed up in Newcastle.

"I found him in Newcastle when I was there on a different job last month. I had suspected him of developing the Dementor's Kiss but-"

"Well, in any case the whole Ministry owes you a huge debt, Harry. Nasty curse, that one. Horrific."

Harry could only nod as he thought of Draco's haunted expression and his rattling breath as the curse had shot through his body.

"I do think the Aurors and the Unspeakables will want to talk to you, too, Harry. But I'm sure that can wait 'til the morning. It is, after all, very late and I'm sure you could do with some rest."

"But what about the paperwork, Ma'am?"

Mafalda considered him for a moment before shaking her head, a small smile playing around her lips. "No, Harry. I think in light of recent events we can forget about all that. I'll have one of the junior clerks finish it off for you."

Harry looked at her dazedly, feeling more than a little uncomfortable at the way he always seemed to wrangle his way out of difficult situations without knowing how. "Are you…are you sure?"

"Of course, Harry! Now go, go! And well done again on a brilliant job!"

* * *

><p>When Harry woke up the next morning he felt confused for a moment, wondering whether he had really been though all the events of the previous day or whether it had just been a very bizarre dream.<p>

Walking over the window to let in the eagle owl that Harry would recognise anywhere, Harry decided it must have all been real. He took the folded piece of parchment from the bird and began to look around for any spare owl treats, but before he could fetch any the bird had raised its head (even Draco's owl was an insufferable snob, apparently) and took off out of the window.

Harry shook his head and unfolded the faded yellow parchment, and had to smile as he read the message within:_"What the fuck, Potter?"  
><em>  
>Deciding that the Ministry wouldn't miss him if he took the day off, Harry Apparated to Draco's ward in St. Mungo's and knocked on the private room he knew Draco had been allocated. After a few moments the door was flung open and Harry was greeted by the blond, looking the same as ever despite the slightly purpled patches under his eyes and the white patch on Draco's left hand which worked in a similar way to a Muggle IV drip but without the need for wires.<p>

"Took you long enough, Potter. Did you just roll out of bed or something? You look frightful." Draco turned and limped back to the mirror, fussing with his cashmere sweater and trying to smooth back a wayward strand of blond hair. "Still, it's not that different to how you usually look, I suppose."

"Are you always this charming or do you make a special effort for me?" Harry walked over and spelled the hair to fall into place, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than strictly necessary as Draco looked up at him with big grey eyes and sighed heavily.

"I almost died, Potter."

Harry stroked the back of his head consolingly. "I know."

"And you thought_** I **_was the one behind it!" Draco huffed indignantly and then went to sit on the edge of his neatly made bed while Harry stayed where he was, dropping his hand and returning it to his pocket.

"I know. You have no idea how sorry I am, Draco. I was such a wanker to you."

"You were."

"I don't even know what I can do to make it up to you. I feel so terrible."

"Well I guess saving my life might count towards it somewhat."

"Draco, please, I'm trying to be serious."

"And I'm trying to be flippant. This is how I am, Potter. This is how I deal with things. I'm not one of your little Gryffindor cronies who all proudly wear their hearts on their sleeves. I don't do big emotional outbursts."

"You can't just repress this, Draco. You need to talk about it with someone."

"In case it escaped your notice, Potter, I don't _**have **_anyone to talk to about it, so excuse me for wanting to avoid the issue and just get on with my life. Or what's left of it, anyway."

Harry marched over to the bed and took Draco's face in his hands, forcing him to look Harry in the eye. "You can talk about it with me. You don't have to be alone anymore, Draco."

Draco averted his gaze and closed his eyes, the red patches on his cheek suggesting that he was seconds from tears. "Forgive me if I don't trust you right off the bat, Harry."

Harry flinched, but he knew he deserved that. "I understand. I really do, but I promise I won't leave you again, not now, not after this."

"You already did leave me. You brought me here and then abandoned me. You're a terrible hero, Potter. Everyone knows once you rescue the damsel in distress you're meant to wait by her bedside until she awakens and you can court her properly."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "What?"

"Yes."

"Draco, you're insane."

"Well forgive me, Harry, but I did just have some psychopath try to suck out my soul, so that might explain why I'm feeling more than a little delicate. Evidently your memory is also somewhat lacking."

Harry took a seat next to Draco on the bed and leant in to kiss him on the forehead gently. "I do remember that, actually. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it."

"Remember all your heroic rescues do you, Potter?"

"No, but you're pretty special after all." Harry kissed Draco's head again as the blond tried to squirm out of reach.

"Potter, don't be a sap."

Harry moved closer so that he and Draco were nose to nose and then took Draco's hand in his. "You don't have to put up a front with me, Draco. I just want to help." Draco turned his face away but Harry immediately turned him back. "Talk to me," he commanded softly.

"And say what? Tell you how scared I was? Tell you how pathetic I feel? Tell you how alone I am when you're not around, and how I didn't realise it until I woke up this morning? I don't need you to save me, Harry, and I sure as hell don't need you to counsel me."

Harry took Draco's face in his hands and leant in to kiss him, just a gentle brushing of their lips, but enough to help Draco relax against Harry's body, the tension leaving him in a rush of breath as they pulled apart.

"I don't need a hero," he whispered.

"I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm just trying to be your friend."

Draco looked up at Harry, a single tear escaping his eye as he blinked, nodding as Harry wrapped his arms around his small frame.

"I might be amenable to that."

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><p>Please read and review! :)<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area. Harry can be somewhat rude when it comes to voicing his opinions of the city, but don't worry, I'm sure Draco will be such a gracious host that Harry will soon come around...

**A/N**: Only one chapter left to go!

**Chapter 10**

Harry waited with Draco until the Healer came to discharge him and then Apparated back with him to his apartment in Newcastle.

"Shit…"

Draco dropped Harry's hand as he took in the outward devastation; there was glass everywhere, his white voile curtains were blowing through the empty windows in the breeze, and the front door was still hanging off its hinges from when Harry had blasted it out of his way.

"I'm guessing that was you?" Draco shot him an exasperated glance and checked for passing Muggles before raising his wand to set the door back in its place while Harry worked on returning the glass to the second-floor windows.

Once that was done, Harry and Draco walked up the stairs to the living area, Draco gasping in horror as he took in the sight of his beloved beige recliner and sofa overturned and in pieces scattered across the room.

"My chair!" Draco ran his hands over the ruined furniture, turning to survey the rest of the damage, including the demise of his favourite mug and the several very expensive bottles of Malfoy wine.

Sighing heavily, Draco sauntered over to the breakfast bar and hoisted himself onto one of the stools which had miraculously survived, his brow furrowing in confusion as he noticed the black box that Harry had left there the previous afternoon.

"What's this? Did Nott leave this?" he asked cautiously, his hands moving forward to open it when Harry shook his head.

"No, I brought it."

"You?"

"I found it in your bedroom."

"My…bedroom?" Draco turned to glance at the red metal staircase on the other side of the apartment but Harry put his hand over Draco's to regain his attention.

"Your bedroom at the Manor."

"What…why were you at the Manor? When was this?"

"I'll explain everything later, I promise. But I think you should look at what's in the box first."

Eying Harry cautiously, Draco opened the lid, his jaw going slack as he took in the Pensieve and the two-dozen or so memories around the edge, his fingers skittering over their tops in wonderment.

"What is this?" he asked almost to himself, his eyes falling on the letter from his mother, which he tore into and began reading aloud.

"_My dearest Draco,_

_I write to you today with hope in my heart that when you read this letter upon your return to the Manor that you will have at last found the happiness that you deserve._

_Suffice to say it has become necessary for me to leave the Manor, Draco. I can no longer stand the memories that linger here, and without the protection of the ancient wards I no longer feel safe within the grounds. Despite sealing off some of the worst rooms, I am sure that I can still feel the remnants of the dark magic from the War permeating the rest of the Manor. The only choice I have left is to relocate to one of the residences in France._

_I know that you are there, Draco, and it comforts me to know that we will be close once more, even if we are forbidden from meeting for another two years. I hope that you have found your way in the Muggle world, even though I am sure that it has not been easy for you to adjust. The fact that you were prepared to accept this punishment over Azkaban, though, is a source of both pride and comfort for me, for if you had been imprisoned I scarcely think I could have survived it._

_I have always tried my best to protect you from harm, Draco, though I know that I failed you totally after your father was captured by the Ministry. I hope that one day you will be able to forgive me for the horrors you experienced during the War and for the consequences that you have had to face because of my weaknesses and the actions and decisions of your father._

_But never doubt that your father loves you greatly, Draco, even if his pride prevents him from showing it. I do so hope that once your exile is at an end we will all be reunited once more._

_I love you, Draco. You are the greatest_ _thing that has ever happened to me. Know that I am proud of you for the man you have become and that, whatever happens, nothing will ever change that fact._

_I hope that the Manor will once again be a good home to you. _

_Love always, darling_

_Mother"_

Draco looked up at Harry as he finished reading, his pale hands shaking too much to hold the letter any longer.

"Did you read this?" he asked Harry as he stilled his hands enough to fold the letter and return it to the box.

"No," Harry reached out to take Draco's hand, rubbing circles on the back with his thumb.

"Did you see the memories?"

"Yes," he didn't see the need for denying that, "But I just-"

Draco shook his head held up his free hand to prevent Harry from continuing.

"I remember last night you were mentioning all these memories that I had no idea how you knew about. I was so confused by it. But now…I suppose this is the reason?"

Harry nodded a little sheepishly.

"I'm glad." Draco smiled at him sincerely, "I know you and I didn't have many happy memories from before. If you hadn't watched these…well, I might not be here now, right?"

They shared a small smile before Draco took back his hand from Harry's grip and uncorked one of the vials closest to him. He stood up and then paused, nibbling his lip in thought.

"Will you come with me?" he looked so vulnerable after the rollercoaster events of the last twenty-four hours that Harry couldn't possibly refuse.

He stood up and nodded, taking Draco's proffered hand, and suddenly found himself back in Lucius' study where Narcissa first announced she was pregnant twenty-five years ago.

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><p>By the time they had watched all of the memories, it was dark outside Draco's flat and Draco himself was looking rather overwhelmed. He replaced the last vial in the wooden box and closed the lid, his hands stroking over the top as he lost himself in thought.<p>

Harry wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling him back against his chest and kissing his left cheek. Before he knew what had happened, Harry found Draco pressing his lips against Harry's, his tongue coaxing Harry's mouth to open and his hands felt like they were everywhere at once; in Harry's hair, bunched up in Harry's shirt, down Harry's jeans…

Harry pulled away and looked at Draco's raw expression. "Draco…"

Draco, though, had apparently had enough of talking. He manoeuvred them both over to the wall, his back against it as he pulled Harry towards him, their mouths reconnecting as Draco threw his arms around Harry's shoulders. He broke away to remove Harry's glasses but returned to kissing him before Harry could even adjust to the change.

Harry put his hands on either side of Draco's face to steady himself as he rutted against Draco, loving the rumbling sound of contentment he heard in Draco's throat. Harry pulled away from the kiss and moved instead to Draco's neck, finding the spot he marked the first time they had kissed like this and setting out to mark the skin again.

Draco moaned wantonly as he fisted his hands in Harry's hair, his breath laboured and heavy.

"Fuck me," he choked out, and in his current state of arousal Harry didn't even bother replying with words. He grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him over to the living area, having enough cognitive thought left to cast a Cushioning Charm on the floor, and then yanked his t-shirt over his head while Draco lowered himself to the ground.

Harry didn't waste any more time as he knelt over the blond, pulling the cashmere sweater over his head and planting kisses along Draco's collarbone. His hands roamed lower as he undid the fastenings of Draco's faded jeans, tugging them off and tossing them somewhere behind him afterwards. His fingers skimmed lightly over Draco's sides, and Harry enjoyed the shudder it elicited from the man beneath him.

"Jeans, Potter," Draco gasped out and Harry realised that he still had his own jeans on. He pulled them off all the way, but before he could move back to where he'd been before Draco had pulled down his boxers to free his erection, and suddenly Harry was engulfed by the heat of Draco's mouth and subjected to the most delicious kind of onslaught Harry had ever felt.

Harry groaned and tried to thrust more of his erection into Draco's mouth but Draco kept his hands on Harry's hips, controlling everything and forcing Harry to surrender to his ministrations. Harry was starting to lose himself in the feel of it before he made himself grab hold of Draco's hair and remove his mouth, knowing that if it went any further he would never be able to last long enough to fuck Draco properly.

Kicking off his boxers all the way, Harry Summoned the lube from Draco's bedroom, uncapping it and squeezing a liberal amount onto his fingers while Draco removed his own underwear. Bending down to kiss Draco's mouth Harry positioned himself between Draco's legs, one hand keeping him propped up as the other found its way to Draco's hole to stretch him. When the blond moaned against Harry's mouth Harry found it hard to stop himself giving up and just taking Draco right then.

"Harry, just do it." Draco's eyes were fluttering closed and his mouth was slightly parted. "I need this." Harry realised distantly that Draco probably just wanted a diversion from everything else that had happened, but in the face of his weakening self-control he didn't have time to dwell on that.

As he pushed in, Harry noticed the way Draco's eyes were scrunched and his cheeks were flushed red, and Harry couldn't resist reaching down to kiss him once more. He tried to push in gradually but thanks to Draco's earlier actions he was in no real state to take anything slow.

With the hand that wasn't propping himself up Harry reached down to grasp Draco's hardness, fisting it firmly as he thrust in and out of Draco. He moved his hand to shift position, aiming deeper into Draco to try and hit his prostate, knowing a few moments later that he had found it by the whimper that escaped Draco's lips and the shudder that wracked his body.

Harry sped up his hand, hoping to push Draco closer to release, knowing that he himself was already teetering on the edge.

Draco began raising his hips to meet Harry's downward thrusts, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his head thrown back as he moaned his release without shame.

As soon as Harry heard Draco's breathy sigh of "Harry", he knew he stood no chance keeping his own climax at bay any longer. He gripped Draco's hips with almost bruising force as he came, collapsing on top of Draco's chest when it was over, trying to regain control of his breathing.

"You best not be planning on staying there all night, again," Draco warned him, but it was too soft to hold any real menace. Harry smiled and kissed Draco's nose, knowing it would irritate the blond immensely, and then settled in for sleep.

"Shut up, Draco."

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><p>Please Read and Review! :)<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

**DISCLAIMER**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
>No offence is intended to anyone who lives or comes from the Newcastle area.<p>

**A/N:** So here it is, the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who has read this story, especially those who have left me such lovely reviews! But above all thank you to Meg, without whom this story never would have made it to fruition.

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 11<span>**

The next morning Harry woke up with his face squashed against the floor and a blanket thrown over his back. Squinting against the light that flooded the living area of Draco's apartment in the morning, Harry pulled himself up, wrapping the blanket around his waist like a towel as he stood up to look for Draco.

Not being able to see him anywhere on the second floor he walked towards the metal staircase that led to Draco's bedroom, grabbing his glasses from the breakfast bar on the way.

Upon reaching the top step, Harry's eyes immediately fell upon Draco, who was stood with his back to the staircase, shoulders hunched, looking out of one of the white sash windows. Harry thought he looked incredibly vulnerable dressed in an oversized grey t-shirt and a pair of drawstring bottoms that hung low on his hips.

Walking up behind the blond, Harry dropped his chin onto Draco's shoulder and leant his head against Draco's cheek.

"Morning."

"Morning." Harry turned to kiss the cheek closest to him and brought his arms up to encircle the other man. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Excuse me?"

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled Draco in closer. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"A damn sight more than is going on in yours, I'm sure."

"Draco-"

"I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. I thought I was safe here but it turns out I'm not safe anywhere anymore." Draco sighed heavily and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Are you going to leave?"

"And go where exactly?"

Harry shrugged, hoping Draco would be able to feel the gesture thanks to the proximity of their bodies even if he couldn't see it. "The Manor?"

"Harry, I told you. The Manor isn't safe enough. You heard what my mother wrote, the Ministry-"

"Took down the protections, I know. But I put them back."

"Excuse me?" Draco turned in Harry's arms to shoot him a questioning glance.

"That's the reason I came here the other night. Ever since we argued I felt awful and I wanted to find a way to make it up to you. So I decided to give you back the Manor."

"You decided to give me back something that was already in my possession?"

"No, you owned a normal, everyday manor with no protections and filled with horrible relics of the War. I'm giving you your old manor, minus a few of the more sinister objects that Hermione and I found."

"Hermione and you?"

"I had to ask for her help to get hold of the Ministry files on the Manor, and then to help me cast some of the more difficult warding spells. But they're all there now. We replaced them all, even the one that prevents anyone not of Malfoy ancestry from entering without permission." Harry smiled down at Draco, who was apparently speechless for perhaps the first time in his life.

"But…the rooms…"

"We restored them all, at least the ones that seemed to have been host to some of the nastier events of the War. I left your bedroom as it was; it didn't seem right to touch any of it. Well, except the box from your mother. I thought that might convince you to go back."

"Harry…"

Harry cupped the back of Draco's head and tilted it up to meet his lips, their tongues meeting and swirling languidly against one another. When they broke apart, Draco still had his eyes closed and he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"I can't believe you did this."

"It's your home, Draco. You deserve to get it back."

"But what about this place?" Draco looked around somewhat sadly, probably remembering the peace and tranquillity it held for him before Harry had shown up in his life again.

"Sell it."

"You really hate it here, don't you?" Draco laughed at him softly.

"I hardly think that recent events have endeared me to the place." Harry frowned as he thought of Nott and Rookwood, who were currently held in Ministry custody awaiting transfer to Azkaban.

"I guess not." Draco agreed as he raised a finger to trace the frown on Harry's forehead. "But it's my home. Or at least it was. And anyway, I should hope you have some _fonder _memories of your time here."

Harry snorted as Draco smirked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Well obviously. But that's more to do with you than the city itself, isn't it?"

"True." Draco smiled smugly and turned back to look out of his window over the city coming to life before him. "I have missed the Manor…"

"Just come take a look at it. And if it's too painful then I'll drop the whole subject and respect your decision, okay?" Harry rubbed his hands soothingly up and down Draco's sides, smiling as he saw the tension ease from Draco's shoulders.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>After less than an hour of inspecting the rooms at the Manor, Harry could tell that Draco's resistance was crumbling. He had made sure to check every single one of the rooms that had been sealed off by Narcissa, nodding to Harry after each one in (somewhat reluctant) approval. By the time he reached his former bedroom, Draco seemed to be struggling to remind himself of all the reasons he couldn't come back here.<p>

"I have to think about the business. My staff, my customers-" he protested, even as he gazed out of the bay window of his bedroom with an expression that could only be described as 'longing'.

"You have to think about yourself, Draco." Harry spoke softly, sitting down on Draco's four poster bed and studying the blond's face.

"There are so many bad memories here…"

"And now there are bad memories in Newcastle, too."

"But they're not nearly as bad as the ones here." Draco shook his head and raised his hand to the glass pane in front of him.

"This is your _**home, **_Draco. You belong here." Harry sighed and walked over to stand with Draco at the window, the pair of them looking out over the Manor gardens which presented a vibrant display of colours in the late May sunlight. "I remember one of the first conversations we had in Newcastle, and how you told me that you couldn't think about going back to the wizarding world because you didn't have any friends there anymore, or any family, or a home."

Harry turned Draco to look at him, his hand moving to Draco's cheek, his fingers stroking back and forth gently.

"Well I'm trying to be your friend now, trying to be more than that actually." He smiled and Draco snorted as he rolled his eyes. "And this Manor is as close to your family as you can get, as well as being your ancestral home. So I don't see what there even is to think about. Isn't this everything you've wanted for so long?"

Harry rested his forehead against Draco's, his other hand coming up to cup Draco's other cheek.

"But the memories-"

"Everywhere has good and bad memories, Draco. You'll never escape that. You just have to move past the painful ones and embrace the happier ones. And if you really can't find any happy ones in some of these rooms…"

Harry captured Draco's lips in a sweet kiss and moved his arms to wrap around the other man, kissing him until he heard Draco sigh contentedly against him, his resistance finally worn down.

"We'll just have to make our own."

FIN

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><p>Please read and review! :)<p> 


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